Stolen Love
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: She was stolen in broad daylight. Taken from her family and turned captive to a race of purported savages. But as she lives and grows within her new 'family', she discovers that these 'savages' are anything but, and that maybe her captivity is turning into something more along the lines of love. Fiyeraba. Rewritten, 2014.
1. Chapter 1

**Stolen Love**

 **Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **Summary: She was stolen in broad daylight. Taken from her family and turned captive to a race of purported savages. But as she lives and grows within her new 'family', she discovers that these 'savages' are anything but, and that maybe her captivity is turning into something more along the lines of love. Fiyeraba. Rewritten, 2014.**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _1856_

The heat of the sun radiated down in a never-ending heartbeat upon the wagon trains passing through what was referred to as the Thousand Year Grasslands, bound for the unclaimed territory of Munch- what would one day become known as Munchkinland- to claim land for themselves and build new lives. Chatter filled her head as she sat beside her father on the bench as he drove the horses pulling their wagon behind the other wagons ahead of them. Her mother was walking along side it, holding tight to Nessarose's hand, keeping a close watch on Shell as he dashed ahead to join the other children. Their innocence was unclogged by the dangers lurking all around them.

She heard Glinda Upland's voice ahead; the Uplands and the Thropps had once been neighbors back in Fliaan, and when it was announced that land was up for the taking, their fathers had agreed to cross the grasslands together, and so became apart of the wagon train led by Oatsie Manglehand and her husband Nubb; one of hundreds of wagon trains crossing the grasslands to make a better life and claim land for their own. She and Glinda had become good friends on this trip, and it was nice to have another girl around her age making this journey with her.

At thirteen, she was too old for childish games- the type of games her brother and sister, at eight and ten respectfully, and yet still too young to be considered a lady. She hated being in what she called the in-between time, but she accepted it, for she would turn fourteen in just six short sighed, tossing one of her thick, black braids over her shoulder.

"How much longer, Papa?"

Frexpar chuckled softly as he glanced his oldest daughter. "It's going to take a while, Elia. Munch territory is a long way away. It's going to take us a while to get there, and there's so much land here to cross. We're making good time; it's possibly going to be a few more weeks."

The girl 'hmmphed' in response, crossing her arms over her chest and sitting back. Her father chuckled softly. His beloved oldest child was stubborn, and hated waiting. She had been born impatient, coming a week and a half early, back in August eighteen-forty-three. With her long, thick black hair, her dark eyes and porcelain skin, she was every bit the feisty, wild raven that was the meaning of her name in Fliaanian.

"Patience, Elia. I know you possess at least an ounce of it."

The girl screwed her mouth up and wrinkled her nose. "I am patient."

Her father chuckled.

And then suddenly, the wagons stopped. "Shell! Shell, come back here!" Melena's voice was frantic, and after a moment, the eight-year-old was back by his mother's side.

They heard the shouts before they saw the bodies. It was blur of confusion as what had been called savages by the teamsters soon descended onto the wagons, arrows and spears flying. Horses whinnied and soon reared; wagons were toppled, people ran, seeking shelter in the grasses. Melena quickly shoved her two youngest children under the wagon, before reaching for her oldest daughter. Frexpar climbed off the bench and helped her down, even as her mother rushed to join her two youngest children. Screams of the settlers could be heard, and arrows hit their marks; bodies dropped and children begged for their lives.

Once her feet touched the ground, she rushed to join her siblings as her father moved to grab his shotgun. He cried out, dropping the gun before he could even think to lift the gun; an arrow pierced his shoulder; she turned back at his cry. "Papa!"

Melena's voice was heard under the wagon. "Sophelia, no!"

But she ignored her mother, rushing to her father's aid-

A shadow fell over them as she dropped to her knees by her father's side, and she looked up, finding a man, a savage, standing over them. Something flashed in his eyes, and she threw herself over her father. "No! Leave us alone!"

But he grabbed her, yanking her to her feet and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, before moving back to one of the horses they had stolen. He threw her over the back of the horse and then climbed up behind her, and in a matter of moments, they- and the rest of what was a war party- were gone, disappearing into the grasslands they had come from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

She was shoved roughly into the tent; she stumbled, falling against a blonde who had also been taken. "Elia!" A moment passed, before she threw her arms around the blonde.

"Oh, Glinda! They took you also?" The blonde nodded.

A moment passed, before she really looked around, realizing that they were not the only ones taken in the raid; several other children and young women were stolen away, some she recognized, some she didn't. _At least Mama, Shell and Nessa are not among us._ She swallowed, turning back to Glinda.

"What do you think they're going to do to us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

The tent flap lifted and the man who had ripped her away from Papa entered; his eyes moved from white face to white face, studying them, before finally settling on her. With a grunt, he moved towards her, grabbing her arm and yanking her from Glinda.

 _"No! Let her go! Leave her alone!"_

She resisted, but it was no use. He wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her out of the tent, setting her back on her feet and shoving her towards a fire. Her skin paled and she stopped, eyes locked on the fire. Her dark eyes moved to drink everything in; the encampment, the tents, men, women and children who stopped to stare at this strange girl in her strange clothes with her strange skin tone.

A voice in a strange language reached her ears, and she looked up, to find a man standing before her; not the one who had grabbed her, but a different one. One who was clearly of a higher rank, if his clothing and tattoos were any indication. And not far from him, stood another man dressed differently to this one, but of clearly similar status.

She was shoved onto her knees, and her braids tugged, yanking her head back, forcing her to strain to look up at the man. She whimpered, feeling something smooth and yet jagged at the same time against her throat. She knew enough to know not to resist. A conversation reached her ears as the men of the same rank talked in rapid tones, in a conversation that seemed to last hours, when in reality it was only a few minutes.

Suddenly, the knife was removed from its resting place against her throat, and she was thrown forward; her hands brushed against the hard earth as she rushed to soften her fall. A moment passed, before she slowly lifted her head, to find herself facing the other man, who reached down to help her up. He grasped her upper arm, and without a word, walked her towards a pair of waiting horses and men, dressed similarly to him. She turned back, studying the encampment, knowing that Glinda and the others were waiting in that tent; waiting for death or life or something in between. She was then lifted onto a waiting horse, finding herself sitting before a warrior dressed similar to the man. A moment passed, before she finally realized what had happened.

She'd been bought. Or traded. Or both.

But either way, she was no longer staying with the people who had captured her; she was now a prisoner of a different tribe, until her family could come to her rescue. If they were even still alive.

She didn't ask where they were going; she didn't say a word, though she did glance behind her, dark eyes going to the warrior she sat before. For a moment, he didn't look at her, and then, his eyes moved to meet hers. They were blue, as blue as the sky, and his skin was a deep ruddy brown, such a contrast to her white porcelain. His hair reminded her of fresh baked bread; golden brown and chopped short, ending at his jaw bone. She sucked in a breath, before turning back to face front, though his eyes remained in her mind.

After what seemed like hours or days of riding, eventually, they returned to what she could only assume was their encampment. Other men, women and several children came out from their tents or stopped what they were doing to greet the men returning. Instantly, stares and whispers of the strange, new arrival began. Many pointed to her skin and hair and dress and spoke to each other in hushed tones.

Once back, her companion got off the horse and helped her down, his hands lingering lightly on her waist once she was back on the ground. He then pulled away, and she forced herself to drink in the encampment they were at. It was similar to the one they had just left, yet there were subtle differences, none of which she could spot now.

Her attention was drawn back when the older man spoke. He turned, making his way to her and taking her forearm; she thought briefly to resist, but he was gentle, unlike the warrior who had stolen her away this morning. She glanced at his face, and he nodded to her, before gesturing to the man she'd been riding in front of to join them. He did, and once close enough, the older man took his hand, wrapping his around hers. He said something, and chatter soon started, excited chatter, surprised chatter, confused chatter.

She furrowed a brow, as unable to understand as the others. And then the older man gently pushed her towards the other one, the one who was clearly his son. She turned back to the older man, opening her mouth in a silent question before,

"I don't understand. Why-"

 _"Matrimonio. Principe."_

She struggled to understand before her whirling mind latched onto the only word that sounded even remotely close to the first word he'd uttered. "Marriage?" The man nodded, realizing she understood. "But... I'm thirteen. I can't get married... I need to go back to my family... You can't keep me here. You can't make me marry ... marry..."

 _"Principe."_

She turned to the younger man, pulling her hand away and stepping back. "P... princ... prince? You... want me to... to marry a... a _prince_?" The older man nodded; the younger man, his son, now that she glanced between them, stepped back, tucking his arms behind his back. "You're... your son?" She turned back to the younger man, who briefly met her gaze. As everything settled in her head, she wheeled on the older man, her anger beginning to grow. "You... you _bought_ me. Like a slab of meat! You... you savages stole me from my family... and bought me and... and now you expect me to marry your... your son... your... prince? No! I want to go back to my family! Please!"

But the older man, the chief, she now understood, shook his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

In two day's time, she would marry the Crown Prince of the Arjiki tribe, she realized. And she fought it every step of the way.

There was an older woman within the tribe who spoke her language as well, and she served as translator between her and the chief and his son. Through this, she learned that she had been captured by the Scrow, and then sold to the chief of the Arjiki, originally to be a servant or captive of some sort, she wasn't too sure. But eventually, it was decided that she would instead marry the chief's son, Fiyero, who's name meant 'Child of the Moon'. She would receive a new name upon her marriage, and would become the Crown Princess of the Arjiki, at merely thirteen.

So it was two days later that she found herself seated before the older woman, named Sarima, who was plaiting her long black hair into two braids that would hang down her back. Even now, she still resisted, refusing to learn the language of the tribe, and avoiding her betrothed whenever she could. She would not assimilate, and began to wonder what had happened to Glinda and the others, if her family was still alive and looking for her...

She did not remember the ceremony taking place; she simply remembered being led to what would be their tent, prepared and left to wait for her new husband. A fire crackled not far from where she sat among the blankets and furs. Somehow, someway, she was now a married woman, at thirteen years of age. She was a princess, a captive, forced to marry one of her captors and leave her old life behind.

Eventually, the tent flap lifted and he stepped inside, closing it behind him. She slowly met his gaze. As he moved closer, she saw the diamonds on his chest, and noticed how they seemed to glow in the firelight. Being cautious, he knelt before her. The language was clearly a barrier between them, the closest thing she could get to protect herself. "Please, don't."

He moved closer, gently reaching out and taking her hand. "Elphaba."

She started, surprised, but then remembered that this was her new name- a name that meant 'Daughter of the Raven'. Slowly, she met his gaze, and saw that he was just as apprehensive about this as she was. "F... Fiyero." The pronunciation was slow, shaky, formed around unfamiliar words and an unfamiliar language. He nodded, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. As hard as she tried to resist, she was forced to learn, for this was her new life. Her new home.

A moment passed, before he lifted her hand, resting his against hers, their palms pressing together. Slowly, their fingers slid until they were linked, and he met her gaze, as though asking permission, before bringing their hands close and kissing her knuckles. She watched, silent, surprised by such an intimate, gentlemanly gesture from a savage.

Their eyes locked, and after a moment, she pulled her hand away. "Please. I'm merely a girl-"

 _"Quattordici._ " He held up a finger, pointing to himself before pointing to her. _"Tredici."_

"Qua- fourteen?" She tried to remember the few words Sarima had taught her, the things she'd told her- that the prince was only a year older than her, and would be fifteen soon, just as she would soon turn fourteen- "You're fourteen." He nodded, not understanding her words, but understanding the tone. "We're barely a year apart." She bit her lip. "But... why have us marry now? Why-"

He cocked his head, before getting up and leaving the tent. He returned minutes later with Sarima in tow, saying something to the older woman as they entered. She turned to glance at the girl, before understanding. "You married now to prevent being stolen again."

"S... stolen again? By who-"

"The chief of the Scrow wished to keep you for himself. By marrying, you now belong to the Arjiki. We shall protect you."

"I don't belong to anyone! I won't! And I certainly won't belong to him or anyone here!" Sarima turned to the prince and said something, and he nodded, slipping out of the tent to give them privacy.

"You have no choice anymore, Princess. We cannot send you back to your family; they are most likely dead now, since they passed through Scrow territory when you were captured. If they did not die by the hand of the Scrow, they have died by fever that passes through the lands. You are safest with us."

She shook her head. "No. They aren't dead. Papa was wounded but still alive, and Mama and my brother and sister, they were still alive-" She stopped, sniffling. Tears gathered in her eyes and she struggled to keep them from dropping to no avail.

"Trust me, Princess. The best place for you to be is here. You are safe among the Arjiki." And without another word, she slipped out of the tent, whispering something to the prince before continuing on. Silently, he entered the tent again, kneeling down beside her. Gently, he reached out, catching the tears that slid down her cheeks, even as she turned her head from him.

A soft hum was soon heard, and slowly, she turned back to look at him. He was humming softly, as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. She didn't recognize the song, but she knew it was music. Slowly, their eyes locked, and he stopped, holding her gaze for several minutes. And then, very slowly, cautiously even, he leaned close, brushing a soft, feather-light kiss to her cheek before pulling away.

She met his gaze when he pulled back, and he saw the pain in his eyes; pain for her, for her situation. He sympathized with her, on some level. Slowly, she reached up, covering his hand with hers. Neither said a word, but the meaning was clear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

She awoke in the middle of the night; they lay together among the blankets, not touching. It had become an unspoken agreement that they would not consummate their marriage that night. She was not ready, and surprisingly, he wasn't either. It wasn't necessarily that they were too young, that played a part, yes, but it was more because she was uncomfortable in regards to it, and he did not want to upset her more. So they lay together among the blankets, not speaking, just staring at each other until both fell asleep.

As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she pushed herself up, glancing over her shoulder. He was still sound asleep. After a moment, she slowly got up, reaching for her clothes. She removed the buckskin dress they had placed her in, and quickly changed back into her clothing before slipping out of the tent. The encampment was dark, silent, still. She turned her gaze heavenward; stars resided above, a splash of twinkling lights to keep her company.

Was she really going to try and return to her family? Could she? Or, more importantly, would she survive the journey? She didn't know how far away from her family she was, how far she had traveled since being captured, but she had to try. She did know that she'd seen a river at some point. What had Papa told her once?

 _If you're ever lost in the wilderness, follow the river. It will lead you home._

She sighed. _Follow the river_. Now she just had to find it.

Slowly, silently, she began to make her way out of the encampment, following the stars as best she could.

Eventually, she came across the river.

As she began to follow it, she stopped, hearing something close by. A cracking branch. It was either an animal or a person, but she didn't have the courage to turn around and look. So she kept going. She walked for miles, keeping to the river, never looking back. Her thoughts turned to her family. They had to be looking for her, she knew they were. They wouldn't just give up on her. They couldn't. She was their oldest daughter.

Her thoughts had her so buried in worry that she didn't see the sloping embankment, and she slipped. Her ankle twisted and she went down, crying out. The person following her stopped, and knelt beside her. Slowly, she looked up, surprised to see him behind her. He held a finger to his lips, and then reached down, gently checking her ankle. He then stood, helping her to her feet and then scooping her up when she started to go down because she couldn't put weight on her ankle. "Why did you follow me? I don't want to live with your people. I want to go back to my family."

Eventually, they returned to the camp, to their tent, and he gently set her down before removing her boot and quickly checking her ankle. She hissed as he applied gentle pressure to it, and watched as he moved away, retrieved something from a small satchel and returned. After removing her torn stocking, he began gently applying something to her ankle, and she hissed briefly before finding that the pain was slowly dissipating.

"What is that?"

He met her gaze. _"Salvare."_

"A salve?" She whimpered softly. "For... healing?" He thought a moment, before nodding. He worked in silence, and she watched, noticing how gentle his hands were, though they were rough, as though he had done work similar to her father. This was the Crown Prince, this teenager she had been forced to marry. The prince she had been bought for, like a Glikkin in the Glikkin slave trade up north. Though she was in a fairly better position than a Glikkin, she supposed, though she didn't see how. She was a captive of a Native tribe; she'd heard stories of pioneers crossing through their territory and being attacked, like her family and their wagon train had been. She'd heard of the horrors that the Natives put their captives through before killing them-

And yet, she'd been shown nothing but kindness since being bought by the Arjiki. They had fed her, clothed her, given her shelter, a new name, and though they'd forced her into marriage to their young prince, it was evident that they did so because it was what was best for her. She watched him in silence, saw how he gently cradled her ankle as he worked, before gently wrapping a length of softened animal hide about and securing it.

Their eyes locked as he finished, and after a moment, he sat back, giving her space. They sat in silence for several minutes, before she finally spoke. "I'm... I'm sorry." He looked up from studying the pattern of her dress. "I just... I miss my family. I want to go home." Her eyes welled with tears and she began to cry; instantly, he was by her side, gently catching her tears and brushing them away with soft kisses to her skin. Her eyes closed instinctively, and after a moment, she tilted her head to look up at him.

In that moment, she realized that she wasn't looking at a savage. She was looking at a boy, really, forced into a situation he probably wasn't too thrilled to be in either. He wasn't as savage as she thought he was; he was just raised differently. His society was different to hers, though similar. What she saw as savage, was normal for him and vice versa.

He studied her for several minutes, before gently cupping her cheek. Slowly, she reached up, grasping his wrist, but she didn't pull away. They watched each other for several seconds, before slowly meeting in the middle. Their lips brushed together softly in a tender, gentle first kiss, that meant so much more than what it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rejection: Do not Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Six Weeks Later_

She was slowly assimilating into the Arjiki tribe. She refused to give up the dress she'd be stolen in, for it was the last thing Mama had sewn for her- a gift for her thirteenth birthday. Nor did she get rid of the boots- scuffed and worn though they were, she had worn them for years and refused to let them go, for some of her happiest memories of her family were made in those boots. She also kept the blue ribbons that had been around her braids that day- they had been Nessa's and she had borrowed them; they now held the last memories of her little sister. The things from her old life were tucked within a bag she kept in the back of the tent she shared with Fiyero.

Slowly, she had picked up the language and the customs of the Arjiki. In six weeks' time, she had slowly grown accustomed to their ways and their way of life. She still fumbled over the language and the customs, but Fiyero was always willing to help her.

She gently pushed the flap of the tent opening aside, peeking out. A bonfire was started and there was dancing and chatter, for it was a momentous occasion. That afternoon, in an hours' time, she would receive her tattoos. The Arjiki was the only tribe to tattoo diamonds upon their skin; the more diamonds, the higher the status of the person. And because she was the Crown Princess, married to the Crown Prince, her tattoos would be numerous. Fiyero himself had twenty or more, in the pattern of a starburst upon his chest, in varying sizes. The dark blue reminded her of the sapphires she had seen in books- a beautiful, deep, dark blue. She had grown accustomed to studying them at night when they lay in bed. She often lost count of how many diamonds he possessed.

"Elphaba."

She gasped softly, pulling back, surprised to find her husband on the other side of the tent flap, watching her. A moment passed, before she relaxed, and he smiled softly at her before entering the tent. She met his gaze. _"Marito, è tempo?"_ He nodded, and she swallowed nervously, before slowly slipping out of her buckskin dress. It pooled at her feet, and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly conscious of how she looked, left in nothing but her creamy, milky skin. She quickly accepted the blanket he wrapped around her shoulders, holding it close, before taking his hand and following him out to the bonfire.

Instantly, others in the tribe stopped what they were doing and turned. Only the shaman continued his work, laying out the carved bowls of ink and bone needles. A set of blankets lay before him, and she slowly knelt upon it, suddenly nervous. On instinct, she reached up, taking Fiyero's hand. He squeezed her hand softly, _"Moglie, sarà bene."_

She nodded, trusting his words. _He's right. It'll be okay. He's had these done before. They all have._ She met the old shaman's eye, and he nodded. Slowly, she lay upon her stomach, for her diamonds would be upon her back. They would trail over her shoulders and down her back in a waterfall design, taking up her shoulders and then moving down her back to her buttocks. As the Crown princess, hers would be slightly different- they would be green instead of blue, signifying her acceptance into the tribe around the time of new beginnings.

Still holding onto Fiyero's hand, she winced upon the feel of the first needle breaking into her skin, and she whimpered softly. It was a long, tedious process, these tattoos, but eventually, the pain evened out, and she got used to the sensation. The rest of the tribe watched in silence as the shaman continued to add the diamonds, turning her milky white skin a shade of green and a shade of red as the blood bubbled up with each prick. Eventually, the shaman finished and fully wiped the blood away, before applying a salve to hasten healing.

She looked up at Fiyero, dark eyes filled with tears. _Is it done?_ She swallowed softly. _"Marito, è fatto?"_ He nodded, helping her up. She pulled the blanket closer, but the shaman stopped her, allowing the rest of the tribe to see the diamonds that now flowed down her back like water.

 _"Arjiki la nostra principessa._ " She turned to Fiyero, who made his way towards her, gently draping the other blanket around her shoulders. He then gently cradled her face in his hands, meeting her gaze.

 _"Mia principessa."_ It was soft, so only she could hear, and a tiny smile tugged at her lips. He kissed her softly, to cheers and excited chatter among the tribe, for this was the day that she officially became one of them. And though it was joyous occasion, she couldn't help wondering what had happened to her family, if they had survived and made it to Munch, and if they were still looking for her.

Silently, he took her hand and led her back to their tent, where she could get changed. Feasting, dance and music would continue long into the night, but for now, she and Fiyero would spend a little time together. As he gently helped her back into her dress, being gentle of the fresh diamonds on her back, she let her mind wander, back to a time when she had been the oldest child of a family who had had big dreams of owning their own land in a new country and starting fresh.

 _Do they still look for me? How is Mama coping? And Nessa and Shell? And Papa? Have they made it to Munch, and built a house on the land they bought? Is there a space for me, when I return? Or have they completely forgotten about me by now? Six weeks have gone by, have they given up on finding me?_

 _"Elphaba? Solle vostra mente?"_ She turned to meet his gaze.

 _What's on my mind? How do I tell him about my family? That I'm afraid they've forgotten me?_ She bit her lip, before giving him a soft smile in return. _"Marito, niente."_ He studied her for several minutes, recognizing that while she said nothing, that it was so far from the truth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rejection: Do not Miriena**

 **A/N: Okay, forget the 'T' rating she had for this. This is definitely an 'M', thanks in part to this chapter. Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

The festivities lasted long into the night, but she and Fiyero retired early. As the flap of their tent closed, the small fire in the center of the spacious tent was the only thing that gave off light in the darkness. She sat among the blankets, staring into the fire, lost in thought.

Had it really been six weeks since she had come to the Arjiki? Since she'd been stolen from her family on their way to a better life? Since she had last seen Glinda, still at the Scrow encampment, or her brother and sister and mother as they crawled beneath the wagon to escape the Scrow? It didn't seem possible.

Six weeks.

Her life had changed so drastically in six weeks.

She looked up, meeting her husband's gaze. _Her husband._ It sounded so foreign in her head, for she was only thirteen. And yet, here she was, a married woman, a princess, even. As he knelt beside her, she shook her head. _Not tonight. Not with my back still sore from the tattoos._ For they had consummated their marriage only two short weeks ago; it had been slow, cautionary, getting to know each other, to know the other's body and finding their own rhythm.

 _"C'è un altro modo."_ His voice was soft, and her interest peeked. Another way?

 _"Come?"_ Another way to engage in the pleasures of the flesh? How? She had been taught that the only way for a man and woman to lay together was- She blushed, as her thoughts turned to the Bible passages she had read as a child. A small smile tugged at her husband's lips, and he slowly crawled towards her, brushing a soft kiss to her shoulder once he reached her.

 _"Como un cane fa."_ She raised an eyebrow, watching as he slowly trailed kisses over her shoulder, being careful of her tattoos. Had she really heard him correctly? As a dog does? A _dog_? She had seen enough farm animals mating in her short life to know exactly what he referenced, but to actually partake-

He met her gaze again, the question in his eyes, though it clearly meant that it was up to her. She thought a moment, before slowly nodding. She had to admit, it did somewhat intrigue her; and perhaps it would be pleasant enough that while her back was healing from the tattoos, they could still partake in the pleasures of the flesh. His gaze held one simple question, and she nodded again, harder this time. He gently helped her out of her dress, being careful of the tattoos on her back.

Once both were stripped bare, he gently slid his hands down her sides, being careful of her back. She glanced at him over her shoulder, meeting his gaze in the firelight. Without warning, he leaned close, pressing a kiss to her lips and resting his forehead to hers briefly before gently grasping her hips. He pulled her closer, until her hips were aligned with his; she hissed softly as his skin brushed against her tattoos, and after a moment, he pulled away, afraid he'd hurt her. She shook her head, the meaning clear: _Continue._

After making sure she was on her hands and knees, he tenderly slid his hands down the backs of her thighs, before slipping one hand between her legs. He found her folds and gently parted them, sliding a couple fingers into her as he did so. She gasped in surprise, tightening as she did so, and therefore tightened around his fingers. Though this was nothing new to her- for in the last two weeks, they often partook in pleasuring each other with mere touch, but still, it surprised her. Fiyero was silent, listening to her and waiting for her cues to continue. He gently brushed his thumb against the small bundle of nerves nestled between her folds, and listened as her breathing slowly began to speed up. She whimpered softly, and eventually, he removed his fingers.

He was full and thick as he slid in between her folds from behind, his hips pressing gently against hers as he worked on getting situated within her. She growled softly in the back of her throat, a low, guttural growl, similar to that of a wolf giving a warning. Once settled, he began rocking gently back and forth, the motion soon became something familiar, and she joined in, pushing her hips back into his as she did so, forcing him to go deeper into her.

She groaned softly, enjoying the familiar sensation of him inside her. Such activities at such young ages would be frowned upon in the civilized society she came from, but here, in the tribe, where they were husband and wife...

He leaned forward, going further into her and captured her lips in a deep kiss, digging his nails gently into her hips as he did so. She drank in the taste of him, relishing the feel of his body against hers, the familiar sensations sending shock waves through her body. She cried out in ecstasy as they eventually reached their breaking point; he was careful to shift to lying beside her among the blankets so as not to touch her back or the still fresh diamonds. They lay together, still joined, basking in the soft hum of satisfaction that filled both of them. She reached up, gently tracing her fingers over his chest, gaze moving over each diamond in turn.

"Bella. Assolutamente bello."

He chuckled, grinning softly. Absolutely beautiful, but did she not see it was true for herself as well? _Just like you._ He reached up, cradling her face in his hands, resting his forehead to hers with a trio of soft kisses to her lips. _"Proprio come te."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Rejection: Do not Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _The Great Kells,_

 _Fall,_

 _1858_

Many moons had passed since the young girl once called Sophelia had been stolen in a raid on a wagon train crossing the Thousand Year Grasslands by the Scrow, sold to the Arjiki, and married to their Crown prince. She had since gained a new name, a new home, a new life, with purported 'savages'. Twenty-four moons had passed since she had come to the Arjiki- two years of being away from her real family, her white family.

Though she often thought of them with pangs of guilt, they were always fleeting within her mind; carried on the winds of memory, only to be cast from thought with something new to learn or do. Now sixteen years of age, the young princess had near completely assimilated into the Arjiki tribe, though she still retained some of her 'white man's' beliefs and ideals, but not many. She was still headstrong and stubborn, and often set in her ways, but she no longer contemplated escape or tried to leave. She'd had no choice but to assimilate into the tribe; her livelihood depended on it.

She looked up as Sarima entered the tent; for weeks now, she had been feeling ill, yet she didn't know why. The older woman silently studied the young princess; she was paler than normal, with rings of black around her dark eyes. Her thick twin braids hung down her back, obscuring the green diamonds that water-falled down her back towards her buttocks. She sat with a blanket wrapped around her body, for she'd felt too warm to wear her dress, despite the fire burning in the center of the tent.

Fiyero stood back in the shadows, allowing the woman her space to work. It was evident that he was worried, though he did his best to hide it. After several minutes, Sarima made her way towards the young woman, kneeling before her. She lifted the girl's head, meeting her gaze, before slowly moving her hands over the milky skin. Her worn, old fingers brushed against the girl's breasts, and she winced, for they were tender to the touch. Sarima made a mental note, and moved her hands down the woman's sides, before sliding them over her belly. She moved to pull away, and Sarima glanced at Fiyero.

 _"Principessa, quando è stato il tempo della vostra ultimo sanguinamento?"_

She furrowed a brow, thinking. The time of her last bleeding? What was so important about the last time she bled? Unless-

Her gaze met Sarima's, dark eyes widening in shock, as she stuttered, _"U.. un mesa fa. Forse due."_

 _"Due?"_ Sarima asked, making sure. The girl nodded. Sarima glanced at the young prince, a knowing look in her eyes. If it had been nearly two months since her last bleed, then there could only be one reason. A reason that would come with the new harvest. She turned back to the young princess, who held fear in her eyes. Gently, she laid a hand on the girl's head, trailing a finger down her forehead in a sign of relief. _"Principessa, non preoccuparti."_ But more fear filled the girl's gaze at her reassurances.

Why should she not worry? Something was wrong, she was dying or... or...

 _"Arriverà nel periodo di il nuovo raccolta."_

The girl turned her gaze to her husband, confused. What would come? And why was the new harvest so important? Sarima wasn't making any sense. But Fiyero understood, for his blue eyes widened in surprise. "Sarima _, sei securo?_ " His voice was soft, yet thick with the weight of such a question- was she really certain? Sarima nodded.

 _"Sì. Raccolta il babe verrà con la."_ The young woman's head snapped up. Though she still had trouble with the language from time to time, there was no mistaking what she'd heard.

 _Baby._

Was _that_ what Sarima was so certain about? A baby? Was she... was she going to have a _baby_? A baby that would come around the time of the new harvest? She met Sarima's gaze, and the older woman nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, as the realization dawned on the young woman. She turned to her husband, who was just as surprised as she was. Sarima silently excused herself, leaving the young couple alone. After several minutes, Fiyero joined her, taking her hand and lacing their fingers.

A baby.

They were going to have a _baby_.

She slowly met his gaze, uncertain of what to say or how to react. But suddenly, everything she'd been feeling made sense. The tenderness, the tiredness, the sickness. Similar to what her mother had gone through with each of her pregnancies. The only difference was that her mother had been twenty when she'd had her, not sixteen; a grown woman, not a mere girl still in her teens. She met her husband's gaze.

Was he happy about this? _"Marito, sei felice?"_

A moment passed, and he thought about it. Happy? Surprised was more like it. But happy? Yes, he supposed so, once he got over the surprise. _"Sì."_ She instantly relaxed, and crawled towards him until she was settled in his lap, the blanket she'd wrapped around herself now wrapped around them both. A moment passed, before he gently laid a hand on her belly. To think, their child was growing within her as they sat together before the fire. Her body would change even more than it already had; her belly would grow; swell, really, until she was heavy and swollen with child. And when the time came, around the new harvest, their child would come, expelled from her body into the world, like their parents before them had been.

But for now... for now, he would relish the news that his wife was with child. Though there were no words for him to accurately describe what he was feeling, he settled for simply, " _Così molto felice._ "

She smiled softly, kissing his firmly. Despite the surprise, in that moment, she too, was so very happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

At the base of the Great Kells was a path that led to a river, which ended in a waterfall. With the crispness of the fall weather, Fiyero and Elphaba often took time to sneak off together; the waterfall became their place, where they could escape to when they needed time away from the rest of the tribe. Ever since the announcement of the baby, the pair had been spending more and more time at the waterfall, enjoying the moments together, because all too soon, their child would make its appearance- not just in the changes of her body, but into the world.

Ten weeks had passed since the discovery of the baby, and the changes in his wife were subtle, but there. The tenderness of her breasts, her growing desires, the cravings for certain foods- wild blackberries being chief among them, and her slowly growing body.

She broke through the surface of the water, shaking her head and sending the water of her drenched black braids flying. He raised his arms to protect himself from the barrage of water, laughing. To see her so happy made his heart soar. Without a word, he swam towards her, taking her into his arms and kissing her softly. " _Principessa mio."_

A smile tugged at her lips, and she brushed her knuckles against his cheek, before returning the kiss. To think, she had once been afraid of her husband, afraid of the Arjiki, and their strange way of life. But now...

Now, she was one of them, maybe not in looks, but in customs, in name and spirit. Now, she was Arjiki thru and thru. Or she would be, once the child she carried was born.

Fiyero gently brushed a lose strand of hair off her forehead before resting his forehead to hers and whispering softly. She hummed softly in response, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. But then suddenly, something began to niggle at the back of her mind, and she pulled away, meeting his gaze. Would she still be able to travel, as the tribe did during the warm months, when she was heavy with child and close to birth? Or would she have to stay behind? And would someone be there with her while she birthed, or would she be forced to birth her child alone? She knew that other women in the tribe had given birth, and that they had been attended by medicine women like Sarima, but would the same still apply to her?

Eventually, they made their way out of the water, settling on the embankment, allowing the warmth of the breeze dry their skin. Fiyero watched her in silence, noting the small swell of her belly- an indication that their child was starting to make their presence known. He reached out, gently tracing the small swell, a smile on his face, and she moved closer, kissing him soundly. After several minutes, the pair got dressed again, and returned to the camp.

She stopped, watching as a little girl sat allowing her mother to braid her hair by the bonfire in the center of camp. A pang struck her heart, and she was flooded with memories of her own mother doing the same to her. On the nights when they would sit before the fireplace; she on the floor, her mother in a kitchen chair, running the hairbrush through her thick, raven strands and tugging them back into sturdy, smooth braids on either side of her head, the same braids she wore now.

"Elphaba?" She turned to meet her husband's gaze, and silently shook her head. He glanced at the mother and daughter, quickly putting the pieces together.

She was missing her mother.

He sighed, knowing that no matter how many years she spent within the Arjiki, it could never completely quench the pain in her heart of being separated from her family, especially her mother and sister. They were a part of her, as this child would be a part of her; they carried memories only she understood, a life only she understood, a life that had not been touched by the tribe. A life that was now a part of her past, as she carved out this new future with him and his tribe.

How could he have been so ignorant as to _not_ see the heartbreak she was feeling? The pain of being separated from her family? And essentially, the death of any possibility of returning to that life? The only way of life she had ever known before being stolen was so distant now, he doubted she would ever be able to find her way home to her family again. And then, there came the question of, did she really want to?

Only she could answer that.

She laid a hand against her belly, her eyes welling with tears that she quickly blinked away; her mother was supposed to be helping her through this, informing her of the things she needed to do before the baby came, helping her make a quilt for the cradle and clothing... doing things grandmothers did in preparation for their grandchildren. But now, she would have to do it all alone, for her mother was not with her, and there was no guarantee she was even still alive, or looking for her. Perhaps her family had finally given up on her. No, she couldn't lose hope. She _would_ see her family again one day, no matter where her life with the Arjiki took her.

As they returned to their tent, she turned back to the mother and daughter. Very briefly, she saw herself and her mother, before the image faded. As she entered the tent and settled among the blankets, watching as Fiyero started the fire, she vowed that she would not let her family fade from her memory. And her child would know their grandparents, even if it was only through her stories of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _The Great Kells,_

 _Winter,_

 _1858_

It was now evident that she was with child.

Though not heavy, at twenty-four weeks, there was a definite swell to her abdomen, and the baby was starting to make its presence known in movement; when Fiyero rested his hand to her abdomen, he could feel the light kicks and movements of their child. At night, he would lay beside her and rest his hand upon her belly, feeling the babe move within her. They often spent their nights discussing what to call the child that grew within her, though in the end, they never agreed.

She sat among the blankets of their tent one evening, working on a blanket for the cradle their child would sleep in once out in the world. Fiyero watched her silently, noting how she would rest her hand against her abdomen on occasion, and a small, knowing smile would cross her lips. Her long black hair hung down her back in two thick black braids, and she often tossed her head, sending the braids flying, to relieve the crick in her neck from her work. Earlier in the week, he had built a small hanging cradle for their child; it resided by their bed of furs and blankets, waiting for the babe to arrive so it could be of use.

Silently, stealthy, he got up, moving around the fire towards her, before settling behind her; so concentrated on her work was she that she didn't hear him, and only jumped when she felt his arms go around her from behind. She turned to meet his gaze, and he smiled softly at her. After several minutes, she set her needle down and held up the small blanket for him to see.

 _"Marito, bene? Pensi?"_

Did she really want to know what he thought? How their child was so lucky to have her as their mother? He sighed, meeting her gaze. _"Perfetto."_ She broke into a smile, before setting the blanket down, and nuzzling her nose against his. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. After several minutes, she climbed out of his lap, allowing him to stand and then took the hand he offered. Without a word, they left the tent, joining the others in the encampment around the bonfire that burned bright in the evening's darkness.

It was the beginning of the winter solstice, what the white called 'December'; the time when animals went into hibernation and snow blanketed the ground. The tribe would spend the winter months- from December to February- at the base of the Great Kells, their tents close together, much like when the swarms of pioneers crossing the Thousand Year Grasslands circled the wagons to protect their families on nights when they had to settle camp.

The fire burned bright, sending sparks into the air, towards the stars to join with them. She watched in silence as young men danced in honor of the Great Father, he who left them only what they needed in the months of the winter solstice, always with the promise that Great Mother would return in spring. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched her husband take part in the dancing; she rested her hands against her belly, caressing it gently through the soft buckskin of her dress. She could feel the babe move within her, and she chuckled softly. _"Facile, piccolo uno."_ She gently stroked her fingers over the soft material of her dress. _My little one, so like his father._

She caught her husband's eye, and without a word, he left the dancing, joining her. His hands instantly found the soft mound of her belly in the faint light, and he tenderly caressed her through the material of her dress. He chuckled softly. _Our child is rambunctious. He hears the music and wishes to join in._ He met her gaze. _"Vuole partecipare."_ She nodded, laughing softly, as the babe continued to kick against their hands.

 _Or she._ She thought, meeting his gaze. " _Marito, o lei._ "

He chuckled. _"O lei."_ Without another word, he leaned down, kissing her soundly, as the music and dancing continued. He still tasted of the water from their visits to the waterfall, and she eagerly drank him in, as though she were dying and he her last chance at survival. He pulled her close, holding her to him, one hand resting against her belly, the other wrapped around her waist. Her arms went around his neck, holding him to her, her hands moving to tangle into his hair. Though others in the tribe noticed, they did not acknowledge such a display between their prince and princess, for it was inappropriate to invade such a private moment.

When they finally broke apart, he took her hand, tugging her from the light of the fire into the darkness. They walked for several minutes, before finally coming to a small clearing not far from the camp. Above them, twinkled hundreds upon hundreds of stars. He pointed out constellation after constellation, telling her the stories of his people, and how the moon fell in love with the sun, but that her father, Daylight, had prevented the union. In order to keep his daughter from taking her own life, Daylight permitted the moon to appear during his time every hundred days, so that the two lovers could be together, if only for very brief moments. And how, Mother Night had cast stars into the sky so that her son might know that the bridge of stars was there for him to cross to join the Sun every hundred days.

She slowly tore her gaze from the stars overhead. _"Marito, cosa andiamo chiamare questo piccolo uno?_ " She waited patiently for his response, studying his features, as he thought over her question.

She was asking for a name. Traditionally, within the tribe, a child's name was not revealed until they made their entrance into the world. For a child's name to be considered before it was born meant that it could be taken by the spirits before it even left the womb. He met her gaze. _Whatever name we choose, it shall be a strong one._ He gently laid his hands on her belly, pulling her close. _"Moglie, pazienza. Presto ci sarà avare un nome."_

He chuckled softly as she crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. She hated being told to have patience. _As stubborn as a black bear, you are, my Sophelia._ Her father's words came back to her, but she quickly shook them away. They had no place in her present, or her future.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Kellswater,_

 _Spring,_

 _1859_

The whites called it April, though to the Arjiki, it was known as the Spring Solstice, a time when new life, new harvest, was born and rose. A time when a woman would become a mother, and a man a father.

Now greatly swollen with child, the young princess was finding it difficult to get comfortable, walk, or even stand for long periods of time. Her belly took up most of her body and energy, to the point where not even the softest of buckskin dresses could satisfy her comfort. But on this eve of the Spring Solstice, it would all change.

As a ceremonial fire was lit and the dancing and celebration for the return of the Great Mother began, she stayed within the tent, unable to move for the pain clenching her abdomen. Her husband had rushed for the shaman as well as Sarima, and all three had returned to find her deep in the throes of labor. Among the blankets, legs spread wide, she bit her lip to keep from crying out, for it was looked down on by the gods for a woman to cry in pain as she brought new life into the world; a child was a gift, and to cry or scream during birth was seen as being ungrateful to the gods. Without another word, Fiyero rushed to her side, holding her close, as Sarima and the shaman set about their work.

They did not have much work to do, for the babe's head had already appeared, and was slowly making its way out of her, widening her opening as it came out. She reached down, grasping her thighs, pulling her legs a little farther apart, before reaching back up for her husband's hands. Her fingers brushed gently against the head, and she hummed softly in an attempt to ease the pain.

Her labor lasted long into the night, as she pushed and strained and bore down; as the babe slowly made its appearance. She reached up, caressing her husband's cheek. _He is not coming, husband. Why?_ He caught her hand, kissing it softly. " _Perché non sta venendo?_ " But he could only shake his head, kissing her temple.

 _"Orso giù, principessa!"_ She pushed her hips up, groaning softly in the back of her throat.

She _was_ bearing down, as hard as she could. She had spread her legs as far as she could, she was bearing down with all her might, and still, the baby was slow to come. What more could she possibly do?

Sarima gently rubbed oils across her forehead, calming oils that would help her to relax and make the birth go easier. Clove, myrrh, cinnamon. She breathed deep, as deep as she could, letting the scents surround her, letting them calm her. She relaxed back into Fiyero's arms, allowing him to give her his strength. Another pain grabbed her around the waist, and she groaned pushing as hard as she could. The babe continued to works its way out of her and into the world.

For several more hours she pushed and strained in the throes of childbirth. It was slow, tedious even, as the child slowly pushed through her opening. She groaned, feeling a shoulder begin to slowly slide out of her. And set of strong pushes brought the other shoulder. _"Grande Padre, presto lascia che sia finita."_ That was all she wanted, was for it to be over. In another few hours, her prayer would soon be answered.

Four hours later, the babe finally slid out of her body, into Sarima's arms. Strong, healthy cries were heard from the newborn, and Sarima quickly sucked the fluid from the baby's nose, spitting it away before wrapping it in a blanket. She pushed herself up, still in Fiyero's arms, and reached for the baby, the meaning clear. Without a word, Sarima laid the bundle in Elphaba's arms.

 _Oh, how beautiful he is._ Tears began to prick her eyes as she held her son. The baby looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. As she caught her breath, she turned to Fiyero. _A name, what shall we name him?_ She bit her lip. _"Marito, andiamo chaimarlo? Tuo figilo?"_

Fiyero met her gaze. His son? He was not just his son, but hers as well. _Call him... we shall call him..._ He couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order, for the sight of their son in her arms struck him momentarily dumb. Several minutes passed, before finally, he said,

"Irji."

She knew the meaning immediately- 'Bringer of Hope.' It was perfect for their little prince. Eventually both Sarima and the shaman left to inform the chief, and outside, they could hear the chief of the tribe telling of the good news- that their princess, after much labor and pain, had borne a young prince, a true blessing on this night of the solstice. It was a sign of good fortune to come for the tribe, that the babe was healthy and strong, clearly the gods looked on them in favor, for such a babe to be born upon the eve of the Solstice. The celebration would last long into the night, but the chief instead made his way to his son's tent, to meet his grandson and check on his daughter-in-law.

Elphaba looked up as he entered, a small smile on her face as she cradled the babe in her arms. " _Padre, venire a contatto tuo nipote."_

And he did, kneeling before his daughter-in-law. His son sat beside her, in awe of the babe she held. He remembered wearing the same look his son now wore when he was born. "Elphaba, _il su nome_?" She grinned at him.

"Irji, _Padre. Il su nome_ Irji."


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

Fiyero watched in silence as his wife gently laid the baby in the cradle he had made. She hummed a lullaby she had heard somewhere before, but could not place the name or person who had once sung it to her. As she gently rocked the baby back and forth, the motion and her voice eventually lured the child to sleep. At two months old, Irji was a good baby, with his mother's thick black hair and his father's blue eyes.

Once the babe was settled, she slipped beneath the blankets of their bed, lying onto her back, as her husband stretched out beside her on his side. He couldn't seem to get over how beautiful their son was. _W_ e _are lucky. Our babe is healthy and strong, and will continue to grow._ He gently stroked her cheek, leaning down to kiss her softly. Eventually, sleep came for them both, and they settled down among the blankets of their bed, the fire crackling in the center of the tent making the area just warm enough to ward off the spring chill.

Two hours later, however, Elphaba awoke to the babe's soft whimpering, and being careful not to disturb her husband, she climbed out of bed, scooping the child out of the cradle and then settling by the fire. She shrugged out of her dress, pulling a blanket around her bare skin, and gently guided the babe's mouth to her breast. They sat in silence for several minutes, with only the crackling of the fire and Fiyero's even breaths to break the silence, before she finally decided to slip outside.

As she settled near the still burning bonfire, she turned her gaze upward, to the thousands of stars overhead. _He shall learn of the love between the sun and moon, and the bridge of stars built so that every hundred days, the moon can be with his love._ She turned her gaze back to the baby nursing at her breast. He stared up at her, one tiny hand curved against her breast as he nursed contentedly. She gently rocked him back and forth, letting herself get lost in his eyes. She began to hum the lullaby she'd been singing earlier, and once more, the words came back to her.

 _"Brilla, brilla la stellina_  
 _Come mi chiedo che cosa sei_  
 _Sopra mondo così in alto,_  
 _Come un diamente nel cielo"_

She wished she could remember who had once sung this very same lullaby to her, so that she could thank them for passing it down so she could sing it to her son, but she couldn't remember anything other than a gentle voice. Perhaps her mother had once sung it to her? She couldn't remember, but that had to be it. No one in the tribe knew the song except for her, so it had to have been her mother.

 _Mother._

She had very few memories of her mother; the most prominent ones being of her long, reddish-brown hair, and a print dress, similar to the one she kept hidden. And the lullaby, but that was it. She couldn't remember her name, or her father or if she had any siblings. Surely she'd be able to remember her siblings? But no, there was nothing but a blank space where memories of her family should have been. Though she had only been with the Arjiki for a little over two years, that was still enough time to turn her from 'the white' as she'd been called when she first arrived, to Elphaba, 'Daughter of the Raven'. And now, with the arrival of her and Fiyero's child, she was fully, officially, Arjiki.

" _Stai pensando?_ " She jumped, having not heard Fiyero, as he knelt beside her, slipping his arms around her from behind. She thought a moment.

Thinking? How did she tell him that she'd been thinking of her life before the Arjiki? Back when she had been the 'white', living among other whites? A moment passed, before she turned to him. She couldn't even _begin_ to figure out how to tell him that. So she went with the best option. " _Marito, niente. Niente_."

He chuckled softly before standing and helping her. After gently unlatching the baby, she held him to her shoulder and rubbed his back before adjusting her hold on him and following her husband back into their tent. As she took a seat beside the cradle, Fiyero joined her, watching as she laid the baby back inside and gently rocking it. An arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, as he kissed her head. _"Sei felice?"_ She turned to him, meeting his gaze, dark eyes widening in surprise.

 _"Felice?"_ He nodded. _"Sì. Sì. Assolutamente."_ She shifted in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck. _"Fiyero, ti amo. Ti amo."_

He rested his forehead to hers, releasing the breath he'd been holding. _"Ti amo, Fabala."_

She grinned, hearing the shortened version of her name, and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He tightened his hold on her, burying his face in her hair when they parted. They stayed that way for several minutes before he finally pulled away and she let his stand. Once they returned to their bed, he pulled the blankets over them and tucked her into his embrace. With her head against his chest, she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, like the strongest of drums. She could feel the diamonds tattooed on his chest, and gently traced one with her finger. A moment passed, before he traced the diamonds on her back, and she buried her face in his chest, enjoying the sensation of his fingers trailing up and down her spine. Eventually, his gentle touch put her to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **Summary:**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Two Months Later_

She hummed softly as she worked, plaiting her hair quickly, carefully watching her son as he lay before her on the blanket. They would stay at Kellswater through the spring months, moving to the Thousand Year Grasslands with the buffalo in the summer months, around the time of the summer solstice.

Irji gurgled, and Elphaba leaned over him, cooing back to him. The baby smiled at her, kicking his legs and reaching for her. Once she finished tying her hair, she scooped her son up, exiting the tent and joining several young women who were working on what appeared to be dresses. As she approached, the women set their bone needles down and nodded to her, a sign of respect to the young princess. She nodded back. " _Posso unirmi a voi?_ "

They made space for her, and she knelt, laying the baby on his blanket before taking a seat beside the women and taking up a piece of soft buckskin, intended to be a moccasin. The five worked in silence for several minutes, before the youngest, a young girl no older than Elphaba, named Candle, asked, _"Ti ricordi la tua famiglia, principessa?"_

She stopped, mid-stitch. Her family? Did she remember them? She thought a moment. How did one remember someone you had only been with briefly? Though, since she had been with Arjiki for two years now, technically, she had to have been with her family for longer than she'd been with the Arjiki. Yet she couldn't remember them-

A moment passed, before she merely whispered, "No" before resuming her work. The young girl seemed disappointed, as though she wanted to experience a life among the whites, even if only through stories.

They continued their work in silence, before Irji began to fuss and Elphaba set her work down, scooping him up and shrugging out of her dress to nurse him. The sight of a mother nursing her child was normal for the tribe; it was white society where a woman providing basic nutrients to her child was frowned upon, the woman often sent off to seclusion to nurse and not allowed to return until done.

But here, not even an eye was batted; if anything, Candle was enthralled. At fourteen, the young girl had been no older than ten or twelve when the young white had been brought to Arjiki encampment. She'd watched in awe as people had tugged at her strange dress and poked at her white skin, so unused to such fabrics and colors. She herself had been fascinated with the white girl, with her strange language and skin, and had hoped she would stay, so that Candle could learn from her. The teenager had a sense of adventure many in white society would frown upon; she wanted to experience the white man's world- and was constantly asking Elphaba questions that the older teenager could not answer, because she did not remember.

Once the babe finished nursing, Elphaba gently rubbed his back before returning him to the blanket and resuming her work. Silence settled among the women again, silence that was only broken by the laughter of children as they played or the chatter of others not far away. The men had gone out hunting, and were due to return soon with kill that would keep the tribe in sustenance for months. Though they had packed and stored dried beef and fish they had caught from the lake, it was still nice every once and a while to have fresh meat.

A horn sounded, announcing that the chief, his son and the men were returning from the hunt. Instantly, people began to gather; the women set their sewing aside and rushed to join the others. Elphaba scooped Irji into her arms, following behind, calming the fussy infant, thanks to the celebration. It was soon quiet, however, when it was discovered that not only was it the hunters, but Chief Liir, of the Yunamata, come bearing gifts. Chatter began among the people, chatter that was soon quieted down with a wave of the Arjiki Chief's hand.

It was suddenly evident that the Yunamata chief was there to bargain for something. Fiyero rushed to his wife, scooping his child into his arms and pulling Elphaba close. He was here to bargain for the white. Such bargains were not uncommon among the tribes; many of the white captives that had been taken in the Scrow raid two years earlier had died of sickness. They were wanted for captives, then would eventually marry into the tribe, such as the one between Fiyero and Elphaba.

A blanket was laid out, and the two chiefs sat upon it, facing one another over the small fire. Chief Liir beckoned a warrior to come forward; he brought with him ten of the finest stallions. _"Dieci cavalli il tuo corvo, Avaric."_ The chief glanced back at his daughter-in-law. _Ten horses for my beloved daughter-in-law, who loves Fiyero and our tribe? That is all she is worth to him? She is worth so much more than ten stallions. Even the finiest._ He shook his head.

In aggravation, Liir beckoned a man forward; he set down a quiver of beautifully crafted arrows and a bow. After examining them, Avaric shook his head. No matter how elaborately carved the arrows or bow, they weren't worth Elphaba. The bartering continued; each time, Avaric turned Liir down until he got so aggravated, he stormed off. Elphaba watched Avaric in silence as he made his way to her after the Liir and his party had left. He took her face in his hands, studying her.

She is worth more than a thousand beautifully carved arrows and bows, more than a million of the most sleek and graceful stallions. He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. _"Arjiki tu sei. E Arjiki tu resterai."_

And remain Arjiki she would.


	13. Chapter 13

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **Summary:**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _Summer,_

 _1860_

The pain was strong, near unbearable.

Legs spread wide, she held tight to Fiyero, teeth finding home in the softness of her lower lip. She could feel it, this new child, moving within her, making its way towards her opening so it could enter the world. Without a sound, she bore down, forgetting about the shaman or Sarima, focusing only on her child as it went through the process of being born.

She and Fiyero had set about creating this new little one in what the whites called November of the previous year; it had been a little over forty-eight moons since she had come to the Arjiki as a white captive- a little over four years, in the white man's world. But on this summer eve, she had no thoughts of the white man, or the white family she had left behind; she thought of this family she was building with Fiyero, of Irji, and this new little one making its way into the world.

 _"Voglio un figlio."_ He met her gaze, silent.

 _"Ha i suoi?"_ She nodded. A son; she wanted another son. A moment passed before he chuckled, meeting her gaze.

 _"Voglio una figlia."_

It was a stubborn argument between them; she longed for another son, while Fiyero wanted a daughter. He wanted a beautiful little girl with Elphaba's hair and eyes, with her smile. He longed to be the father to a little girl who sang like her mother, and possessed the same soft skin as her mother. He dreamed of her, this little girl, and that she would run to him, how she would grow to be like her mother...

A groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and his wife sat up, pressing her palms flat against his knees as she bore down. Now familiar with the throes of childbirth, she allowed her body to do as it was told, following its orders. The babe's head soon appeared after several strong pushes, followed by a shoulder. She lay her head back against his shoulder, sucking in deep breaths, gathering her strength to continue with the birth.

Another push and another and another.

The babe was coming, slowly. Neither the shaman nor Sarima tended to Elphaba, for she knew what to do by now and didn't necessarily need their assistance. Occasionally, they would examine, make sure everything was okay, but for the most part, they left her be. It was the late afternoon hours before the babe's shoulder finally appeared, first one, then the other. A few hours later, the babe's hips appeared, until finally, with one strong push, the infant was out and in the world.

Once in her arms, Elphaba turned to her husband, meeting his gaze, eager for his response. _"Marito, una figlia."_

He swallowed hard, tears coming to his eyes. A daughter; his wife had borne a daughter. And she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. A moment passed, before he brushed a firm kiss to her head, his gaze never leaving the baby in her arms. She needed a proper name... a good name, a strong name...

"Nor." Tearing his gaze from the baby, he met his wife's gaze. " _Nor leie sarà._ "

A moment passed, as he thought the name over. _Nor_. He knew the meaning behind the name- Morning Star. And as he watched his wife and daughter, as his father led Irji back into the tent to meet his new sister, he knew that it was the perfect name for their little girl. He beckoned their son closer, pulling him into his lap once he got close enough, as Elphaba shifted and sat up, adjusting her hold on the baby. _"Questo è Nor, Irji._ " The little boy, now a little over a year and a half, looked from the baby in his mother's arms to his father and back.

 _"Sorella?_ " The toddler asked, turning back to his father, who nodded. He kissed his son's hair, meeting his father's eye. The chief nodded silently to his son, though inside, he was rejoicing in the fact that he now had a granddaughter, and that both his daughter-in-law and the babe had come out of this healthy. Fiyero shall not suffer the heartbreak I did, when I lost you and our daughter. Though Fiyero had only been the tender age of six when his mother died in childbirth, he had very few memories of her; the memories he possessed were few and far between, much like Elphaba's memories of her family before she came to the Arjiki.

Though he was certain that Elphaba had had many years with her mother before she was stolen by the Scrow, for she had been thirteen moons- almost fourteen- when she came to the Arjiki, but the memories of her white family had faded over the years. Not intentionally, but as she had grown to adapt more and more to the ways of the Arjiki, the memories of her life in the whites had faded, replaced with new memories, with a new family.

 _"Padre?"_ Avaric snapped out of his thoughts, turning to his daughter-in-law; she held the baby out to him. _"Incontra la tua nipotina."_ After a moment, he allowed her to lay the baby in his arms; she stared up at him with wide, unfocused eyes. The broken heart he'd carried since his wife's death had slowly begun to heal; perhaps it was Elphaba's arrival, her marriage to Fiyero, or the births of her two children, but something, coinciding with the young white girl's arrival had slowly helped the chief's heart to heal.

Yes, the white girl who had come to their tribe, who had married his son, who had now, borne two children, who was now fully Arjiki, had brought life to not only the tribe, the Chief's son, but the chief himself. Avaric had chosen wisely, when he saw the young girl with the black hair and the paisley blue dress being brought into the Scrow camp that day. She had a fire in her that meant survival. She, more than any of the other girls, could survive in life among the Arjiki.


	14. Chapter 14

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **Summary:**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _The Great Kells,_

 _Fall,_

 _Four Months Later_

Fiyero watched as his wife sat at the bank of the waterfall, bouncing Nor in her lap. The baby giggled and cooed, reaching out for her mother's nose, even as Elphaba hummed a lullaby to her. Slowly, with the stealth of a tiger, he swam towards his family, holding a finger to his lips, asking his son to be quiet. The little boy nodded, kicking his feet in the water with glee. A few minutes passed, before Fiyero ducked beneath the water, swimming closer. Once close enough, he reached up, tickling her sides. She let out a squeal, tightening her hold on Nor, and turned, to glare at her husband.

 _"Fiyero!"_ Still holding onto the baby, she reached out, splashing water towards her husband, even as he ducked back beneath the water. He came up several feet away, laughing and shaking the water from his hair. After a moment, she laid the baby back in her basket, informing her brother strictly to watch over her, before slipping into the water and swimming towards her husband.

 _"Marito, ho quasi abbandonato il bambino."_ Once she was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Though she still wore her buckskin dress, he could tell how her body had changed with her pregnancies. She was still soft curves, even four months after giving birth to Nor. The once slim girl who had come to the encampment nearly four years ago as a captive, a bride for this young prince, had since filled out, with a woman's curves, a woman's body. Since her time with the Arjiki, she had developed meat on her bones; she was no longer stick thin, no longer looked as though she were starving. She was a woman, in every sense of the word.

He kissed her, wrapping his arms tight around her, holding her to him. Even through the soaked material of her buckskin dress, he could feel the soft swells of her breasts, how full of her milk they still were, and the small buds of her nipples. She hissed softly for the tenderness, and he chuckled softly, kissing her head when she broke the kiss and turned away. Without a word, he moved down, grasping the edges of her dress; in one fluid motion, he lifted the soaking garment over her head, leaving her bare beneath the water.

She reached for the dress, but he held it out of reach, eventually swimming back to shore and depositing it onto the soft earth beside the blanket Irji sat on, watching his little sister. He then pulled her back to him, trailing his fingers over her skin, as though it were the finest of doeskin. His lips found hers again, and he pulled her close, pressing into her. She laughed, and without a word, removed his clothing as well, depositing it beside her dress.

They swam for several minutes, free of their clothing, until they were out in the middle of the lake, near the waterfall. He turned back to make sure Irji was watching Nor; the little boy was telling her a story in his made up language, laying beside the baby in the sun, watching her giggle and laugh, well away from the lake's edge, further back on the embankment. Once certain they were okay, he tugged his wife beneath the waterfall, pulling her towards the small ledge that jutted out from the rock face.

She kissed him, pulling him closer and closer until they were lying together on the cool stone. They should not have; they knew better, for they already had two little ones to raise, but neither could help themselves. Their pull to one another was simply too strong to be ignored. After several minutes, perhaps an hour or more, they finally collapsed against the cool stone, reveling in the feel of being joined together again, for Arjiki law prohibited relations between a man and wife for the first three months after a babe came into the world.

 _"Marito, ti amo."_ Gently, she trailed her fingers over his features, never breaking his gaze.

 _"Ti amo."_ They met in a gentle kiss, letting their hands trail over skin and hair, as they once more became one.

Eventually, they left the waterfall, returning to the embankment to retrieve their drying clothing. Nudity was something that was not looked down upon in the Arjiki tribe, unlike the whites, who were modest beyond means. Elphaba had quickly learned that her body was natural, and that to wear nothing at times was akin to being one with the earth, for it was Mother Earth who gave life to her people, or so the Arjiki believed. Though they were spiritual, they were not necessarily religious.

Once they were again dressed, Elphaba scooped Nor into her arms again; Fiyero had Irji balanced on his hip, and the pair left the waterfall, returning to camp. Finally back within their tent, she laid the children down for a nap, humming softly to them both, making sure they were sound asleep before leaving the tent. She caught Fiyero's gaze across the encampment, where he was talking with his father, and felt her cheeks begin to deepen in memory of those stolen moments. She loved her children, she really did, but there were days when she just missed being a wife, without necessarily being a mother. Stolen moments like at the waterfall today, or after the children were put to bed and they could steal away for some time together under the stars... those were the moments she enjoyed most.

A moment passed, before she joined Candle and the other women in their needlework, letting the gentle conversation wash over her like the water at the waterfall earlier that afternoon. Something about a hunt that had happened earlier in the afternoon, when she and Fiyero were at the waterfall, but that was all she picked up, for she could hear Nor start to fuss. Without a word, she got up, rushing to their tent and scooping the infant girl into her arms. Irji had slept through the crying, and after a moment, she slipped out of the tent, being careful not to disturb her sleeping son. As she returned to join her companions, she shrugged out of her dress, guiding the baby's mouth to her breast as she did so.

Candle automatically leaned close, cooing at the baby in delight. Elphaba chuckled. If she knew how much work went into raising a child, Candle would refuse to have one right on the spot.


	15. Chapter 15

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

Once Irji and Nor were tucked in their beds, Elphaba set to work on her hair. She hummed the lullaby as she ran the bone comb through her hair, gently untangling the knots as she did so. A moment passed, before she heard the flap of their tent lift, followed by his soft footsteps. He was the best hunter of the tribe for a reason- not because he was the Crown Prince, but because of how quiet he could be, and everyone knew it. She stopped her humming momentarily, and he stopped as well. A well-sidled glance out of the corner of her eye told her exactly where he was, and she smiled softly, returning to her activity.

He continued towards her, before finally wrapping his arms around her from behind. She stopped briefly, turning to glance at him, before returning to her work. A sigh escaped his throat, and he pressed a firm kiss to her hair. _"Io e Padre stavano parlando."_

She stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?" _Talking? About what, exactly?_

He nodded, burying his face in her hair. She continued her work, giving her husband time to collect his thoughts. She knew better than to pry into the affairs of men, but also knew that her husband shared everything with her; he kept nothing from her, because it was his nature to share with her. She was his confidante, his best friend, his mate and soulmate, and both knew this. He would tell her eventually. There were no secrets between them.

Eventually, he whispered,

"Su di te."

She stopped, her heart leaping into her chest. _Me? What about me? Have I not been a good wife? A good mother?_ Trying to remain calm, she set the comb down before turning to him. _"Marito, su de me?"_ He took her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs against the apples of her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. A hint of fear filled his blue gaze, and she began to worry. "Fiyero?"

 _"Scout."_

The word sent chills through her body; scouts? Certainly not their trackers. That could only mean-

 _"Circa scout?"_ She whispered, though she feared she already knew the answer. He sighed, drinking in her features as though memorizing her, as though after tonight, he would never see her again.

 _"La tua..."_ He swallowed. _"La tua famiglia,"_ She waited, giving him time to think before speaking. _"è... è alla ricerca de te."_

Confusion filled her mind. Her family? _What_ family? The only family she had was here, the one she and Fiyero had built together; their marriage, their children... that was the only family she _knew_ , the only family she _had_. So this talk of her family looking for her... it was... preposterous, really. She had no family but the family she and Fiyero had made. Once upon a time, she must have had a family who had gone looking for her, but that was a time that she couldn't remember. In fact, she couldn't remember who she had been _before_ the tribe. She was as much part of the tribe as they were of her.

 _"Non hanno mai smesso di cercarti." Never stopped._ This family that she supposedly had, had been a part of before the tribe, had never stopped looking for her. But how did they know it was _her_ they were looking for?

 _"Me?"_ He nodded. _"Come-"_

 _"Sophelia."_ She furrowed a brow, confused. The name sounded vaguely familiar; like she'd heard it once, a long time ago, but could not recall where or to whom it belonged. Slowly, she shook her head, unsure of how to respond to the name.

Fiyero was surprised, to say the least. Had his wife become so assimilated to the tribe that she had forgotten her former life? That she was not born Arjiki? That she had a mother and father and siblings who loved her, who still searched for her, even after nearly four years? Had she really, truly forgotten? The look in her eyes told him that she had; that she wasn't playing or pretending. She truly, honestly, did not remember her former life or former family.

"Fiyero?" Her voice was soft, and she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He met her gaze. _"Hai intenzione di fare? Non hai intenzione di rimandarmi indietro, sei tu? Non ho stato un buona moglie? Una buona madre? Una buona-"_ But he rested a finger against her lips, stopping her.

 _"Fabala, il meglio."_ He whispered, kissing her deeply. Her arms tightened around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight against him, burying one hand in her long, black hair. After several minutes passed, he gently laid her down among the blankets of their bed, working her dress off her body before working on kissing every inch of available skin he could see and feel. Her breathing quickened and she reached for him, pulling him closer, burying her face in his chest as they slowly became one.

Perhaps it was the fear that she would be taken away, returned to 'civilized' society, to her real family, or perhaps it was the realization that she could be discovered and stolen, or taken in a raid on the village, but either way, they clung to each other like snow to the mountains above their encampment. If she were taken away, returned to her family, this life, this beautiful, contented life they built for themselves would be ruined, destroyed. She would be forced to leave him, their children, their tribe...

He shook his head. No, they wouldn't think of that, not now. Not as long as they had each other. He pushed into her, filling her completely, drinking her in as much as he could, as though he were trapped in the grasslands, and had just now found water; she was his sustenance, his reason for becoming the man he was. It was because of her that he was the hunter, the warrior, he was; she had taught him kindness, gentleness, in the face of adversity- for though she came from the white man's world, she had learned to live in the world she was given. She had learned, and though it had been rough at first, she had learned to love her life and her tribe. And him.

Just as he had learned to love her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _Summer,_

 _1861_

A soft growl escaped her throat.

 _"Orso giù, principessa! Orso giù!"_

She dug her nails into her husband's thighs as she continued to bear down.

Harder. Another push, and another and another.

 _"Non mi toccare!"_ Both the shaman and Sarima backed away as she ordered; for she knew by now what to do, what her body was doing. Eyes shut tight against the pain, she rested her head against her husband's shoulder, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, even as she continued to push.

Eventually, after many hours, she finally reached down; the babe slid out of her and into the world, a strong, healthy cry piercing the air. As she lifted the babe from between her legs to cradle against her chest, she turned to her husband. _"Marito, un altro figlio. Un nome?"_

He met her gaze, tears blurring his vision as he glanced at the babe against her skin. Their beautiful son... a moment passed, before he whispered,

 _"Nostro figlio... sarà... Manek."_

A tiny smile tugged at her lips, and she turned her gaze back to the babe in her arms. "Manek." She knew the reason why her husband had chosen such a name. It meant 'Child of Two Worlds', and though she was confused because of the meaning, she accepted it, brushing her fingers gently over the baby's forehead. Fiyero, however, knew the meaning, and he knew the significance, even if his wife didn't or refused to acknowledge it. This was the babe that had been conceived the night he'd informer her that her family was still looking for her; that they'd seen the men in search of her... this was the child made from that night nine months earlier.

It was a sensitive subject, her family. Her _other_ family, Fiyero had to remind himself, even though the family they had created had now grown by one...

He shook his head. Nine months was enough time for avoidance, that he and Elphaba could truly discuss the _altri_ \- 'others' as his wife called them. The preparations for the birth had been simple, for Elphaba had done this before, and knew now what to do, what her body had needed to do, but it was no less thought-consuming. But now that Fiyero could conscntrate, on someone like his son, who was now tied to both worlds, not just by his name but by his mother as well...

As the tribe was informed of the safe delivery of the Crown Prince and Princess's third child and celebrated, Avaric slipped into the tent, Irji and Nor with him. Both children stayed close to their grandfather, uncertain of this new, tiny human nursing at their mother's breast. "Fiyero, _il su nome?"_

The young prince met his father's gaze. "Manek."

"Ah." Avaric nodded, instantly understanding. He gently pushed Irji forward. The two-year-old glanced back at his grandfather before making his way to his father. Fiyero pulled the boy onto his lap, having moved to sit by his wife, and the child looked up at him.

 _"Fratello?"_

His father nodded, kissing his black hair. " _Si, fratello,_ Irji." The child turned back to stare at the baby, before curling into his father's chest. It was clear that the little boy didn't know what to think about the new arrival. Nor stayed with her grandfather, not wanting to get any closer than she had to. Fiyero gently rubbed his son's back, glancing at his wife, who smiled softly, before returning her gaze to the baby in her arms.

She sighed; he really was beautiful, with her black hair and his father's blue eyes. He would look exactly like his siblings, exactly like his father, once he got older. _As long as he is as kind and gentle as his papa, that is all I care about._ She hummed softly, watching the baby nurse at her breast. How had she gotten so lucky? What had designated that she be the one to live among the Arjiki? What was it about her, and not the other captives, that dictated she survive?

"Fabala?"

She slowly tore her gaze away from the baby, looking up to meet her husband's beautiful blue eyes. _"Si?"_

He cocked his head, studying her. _"Stai pensando?"_

She glanced down at the baby, before looking first at Avaric and Nor, and then turning her gaze back to Fiyero and Irji. How did she explain that she had been thinking about her family? The one she'd built here, but that the family she'd left behind, the one who was looking for her, was still on her mind? That she was was afraid they would come and try to take her back with them... that they would force her back into a life she didn't remember, with a family she had no memory of? Though a year had passed, the thought that scouts were still looking for her still weighed heavily on her mind, day and night-

So she went with the best option. With a soft purse of her lips, she whispered,

 _"Niente."_

Her husband raised an eyebrow, sharing a glance with his father as he adjusted his hold on their oldest son. It was evident by the look they shared that neither man believed her lie for a moment, but neither called her out on it.

Hours later, after Avaric had left to inform the rest of the tribe of the birth of their new son, and the two oldest children were tucked in bed, Fiyero joined his wife. He adjusted his hold on the newborn, for Elphaba had laid the baby in his arms while she got ready for bed and quickly ran a comb through her hair, yanking the tangles out, and it was then that he confronted her about it.

"Fabala, _non mentirimi_." She stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her teeth slid out to worry her lower lip, and she watched as he gently rocked Manek as the baby began to fuss. His voice was gentle; he wasn't angry with her, just hurt that she would lie. _"Anch ' io sono preoccupato."_

A slight wave of relief washed over her, to know that she wasn't alone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Four Months Later_

Manek was growing, like all children do.

Elphaba delighted in watching the subtle changes in her youngest, as her two oldest flitted about the tribe, learning and growing at a much more rapid rate, creating friendships and learning duties, though they still had time for play, like all children.

And in the back of Elphaba's mind, hung the scouts in search of her... a nightmare that very nearly came close to coming true.

It was one late fall day when Elphaba was in their tent with her children, nursing the baby while she watched over Irji and Nor that a ruckus could be heard outside. Irji immediately rushed to the tent flap to lift it and peek out, but Elphaba called him back, a stone settling in the pit of her stomach. As he returned to her, curling into her other side, she could hear voices, heard her husband's voice and her father-in-law's, followed by a strange voice she'd never heard before.

"Now you listen to me!"

Another voice followed, one that spoke their language, and soon it stopped. It took a moment, before she realized it was a translator, someone who walked between the worlds of the white and the Arjiki.

"Rumor has it there's a white woman living in this camp, and I demand you bring her to me so she can be returned to her rightful family! They've been searching for her for years and they want her back!"

Once she finished nursing the baby, she laid him in his cradle, before standing and quickly making her way to the flap of the tent. Though she didn't touch it, she leaned close, so she could hear better, heart in her throat.

 _"... toronò alla sua legittima famiglia! Hanno cercato per lei per anni e vogliono la schiena!"_

She could hear other voices; Fiyero's soft lilt reached her ears, and she felt her heart flutter. _"Non c'è nessuna donna bianca qui."_ As if he could sense her listening, he stopped, but only briefly before continuing. _"Se c'è una donna bianca vivere con qualsiasi tribù deve essere il Scrow e Yunamata. Non qui, non con Arjiki."_

Silence filled the space for several minutes, while the scout was relayed this information by the translator. She could sense the anger radiating off the man, though she could not see him, and prayed that no one would speak up and turn her back to them. Though she needn't have worried; she was their Crown Princess, the mother of three children, as much Arjiki as any of them- they would not betray her. No one in the tribe would, for they loved her so.

Just as Fiyero loved her.

She had married their Crown Prince, laid with him, made children with him, given birth to those children, she was as much an Arjiki as any in the tribe, anad no one would give her up.

"Now you listen here, all of you! The Thropp family is paying good money for her return! That money can buy you guns, ammunition, clothing, whatever you wish! Return her to us, and you can have it all!"

She gasped silently, covering her mouth with her hands.

 _Thropp._

Though she possessed no memories of who they were, the name set off something in her heart, though good or bad she couldn't tell. It gnawed at her like a wolf on the hunt, demanding to be remembered, but she possessed no memory to attach to the name. Though it must have gone along with the dress she had found folded and hidden away in a corner of their tent. After a moment, she moved to where the dress was hidden and pulled it out.

The paisley print was faded in places, though still held its rich color. The ribbons were frayed at the ends, but still good, as were the undergarments and boots. She studied the materials, trying her hardest to connect the belongings to the name, but she couldn't. After several minutes, she looked up, turning back to the tent flap; it was quiet. A moment passed before it opened, and Fiyero entered, being careful not to disturb the baby, who had fallen asleep. He made his way towards her, and was surprised to find her holding onto the things she'd worn from the white man's world.

She slowly lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the questions in her eyes; she'd heard everything. He just shook his head, the meaning clear. _You belong to us. You are Arjiki, not white._

By the time evening fell, and with the children tucked in their beds, she left the tent, the things from the white man's world in her grasp. Fiyero, worried about her, followed. He watched in silence as she made her way to the fire that still burned brightly in the center of the village. Avaric was in counsel with the other elders, and most of the village was sound asleep.

She stood at the fire's edge, the boots and clothing in her arms; the light from the flames danced across her pensive features, and after a moment, he joined her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back at him, before taking the ribbons and tossing them into the flames. Then, she threw the boots in; sparks shot into the air, only to extinguish moments later. The undergarments were next, going from a creamy white to black in seconds.

Finally, she turned to the dress. The dress held memories that she not longer possessed, from a time she did not remember nor wanted to recall. Though the print was lovely, it did not belong to her, but to the girl she had been before she came to the tribe; a girl she no longer remembered. Without a second thought, she threw the dress into the fire, watching it go up in flames, taking with it the life she had left, and the family she would never meet again.

Fiyero wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her head, understanding. The meaning was clear: her family was here. And by burning the things from the white man's world, she was claiming her destiny, her right.

She was now, fully, completely, Arjiki.


	18. Chapter 18

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _Spring,_

 _Two Years Later,_

 _1863_

In two months, twenty moons would signify the number of years she had been alive on the earth, and two weeks after that, it would have been seven years- eighty-four moons- since she had first come to the tribe and married their prince.

She stretched, feeling her husband's arms tighten around her as he burrowed into her hair. She shifted onto her back, watching him. After several minutes, his blue eyes opened, and he found her staring at him, a look of contentment on her features. She gently reached up, tracing a finger over his features. _"Marito, ti amo. Ti amo, Fiyero."_

He smiled softly, catching her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her palm. _"Fabala, ti amo."_ He kissed her, lacing their fingers together, before sliding his other arm around her waist and pulling her closer. Her soft body melted into his, and even through the buckskin of her dress, he could feel her tender curves, for three children had left her soft and supple in all the right places. They shifted, until he was lying on his back and she on top him; breaking the kiss, she settled, resting her head to his chest. She could feel the slight raise of the diamond tattoos against her skin, and she released a contented sigh, reaching up to trace them with a finger.

 _"Amo la nostra vita."_

It a tender declaration, spoken in contentment, of a life she loved with all her heart. He wrapped his arms around her, sighing softly.

 _"Faccio troppo."_

They lay in silence for several minutes before,

 _"Allora perché ci si sente come è tutto per cambiare?"_

 _"Davvoro dire?"_

She sighed, never lifting her head, and Fiyero noted the heaviness of the sigh that escaped her. _"Ho appena... appena... avere questa pietra nel mio stomaco..."_ She stopped, biting her lip.

Gently, Fiyero lifted her up to meet her gaze, brow furrowed. _"Pietra? Fabala-"_

 _"Yero, se succede qualcosa di brutto?"_

He started. She never called him Yero unless she was worried about something, or frightened. She'd first called him Yero the night she told him she was with child, back when they'd conceived Irji. She'd been terrified for some reason, but she needn't be. He'd been thrilled. Nervous, but thrilled.

He sat up, causing her to slide into his lap; her legs wrapped around his waist, and she turned her gaze to the diamonds on his chest, hoping to avoid the conversation. _"Fabala? Parlami."_ She briefly met his gaze, and after a moment, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Fabala?"

Tears welled in her eyes, and she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. _"Ho paura."_

The declaration startled him, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him. Quickly checking to make sure the children were still asleep, he shifted her off of him before getting up and helping her. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her outside; they settled not far from the village, facing each other. But she wouldn't talk, all she would do was curl into his arms and cry, it frightened her so. Something about this day...

Eventually, they returned to the village; others were just waking. Life was going about as usual, and silently, they worked to get the children up and dressed and set about the day, unaware of how it would turn out.

There was talk of a hunt, and the celebrating of when she came to the tribe. As the children rushed to play with their friends, and she pulled her husband close, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him deeply. He didn't question in, but allowed her to do so, knowing it had to do with earlier. As he gathered the bow and arrows he needed for the hunt, she rushed to him.

"Fiyero!" He turned back, gathering her in his arms and kissing her firmly. _"Non andare. Non lasciarmi solo. Si prega, Soggiorno."_

He tilted her chin up, seeing the tears in her gaze. " _Non sarò andato a lungo,_ Fabala."

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest. _"Non."_ He held her close, kissing her hair before slowly pulling away.

As the men were leaving for the hunt, the sound of horse's hooves could be heard; it all happened so quickly. In a blur of color and sound, the white man's raid on the village came, like a whirlwind on a lake, startling and unexpected all at once. Arrows were fired, screams could be heard. Fiyero rushed towards her; he could hear Irji and Nor crying for her, could hear Manek's cries, and saw her reach out for him-

Irji and Nor's cries for her were strong in his ears, but all he focused on was her. He saw Irji rush towards his mother, the instinct to protect her like he protected his siblings strong; their son would be a wonderful warrior, and a wonderful chief some day. Nor was being held back by one of the other women of the tribe; her screams for her mother pierced his heart, and he knew he had to get to her before the soldier did.

It wasn't like she didn't try to escape, but a man on horseback is infinitely faster. In a matter of minutes, the soldier had ridden after her and scooped her up. Kicking and screaming, she fought him, reaching out for her husband, even as arrows and bullets rained. And before he could blink, the soldier who had her was riding off again, carrying her on the back of his horse, her screams calling out to him in the distance, screams of panic, of complete fear.

They were screams that pierced his soul, that he would hear until he drew his last breath, for all eternity.

 _"Fiyero!"_


	19. Chapter 19

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory_

The two teenagers rushed home, one carrying a newspaper they'd picked up at the small general store.

 _"Mama! Mama!"_

Melena Thropp looked up from her baking, tossing a mahoghany curl out of her face as she entered the llving area. Her two children were wild eyed and excited. Nessa, who still wore her hair in braids, despite it being improper for a young woman of seventeen to do so, snatched the newspaper out of her brother's hands.

"Hey! That's not fair!"

Shell, at only fifteen, was only a few inches taller than Nessa, with thick black hair and striking dark eyes. _So like-_ She shook her head, no, she wouldn't think of her. It was too painful, remembering the daughter she'd lost nearly seven years before in a raid on their wagon train back in the Thousand Year Grasslands. She was most likely dead by now, anyway.

"Hush both of you." Her voice was quiet, but commanding. She turned to Nessa. "What is it, Nessarose?"

The teenager unfolded the paper, as her brother bounced on the balls of his feet. "They found her, Mama! They found her! They finally found her!"

A brief flicker of hope started in Melena's chest, before she quickly squashed it, returning to the kitchen as they followed. "Found _who_ , Shell?" She didn't dare say her name, and dreaded hearing it come from her son's lips.

"Elia! They finally found Sophelia! She was living with the indians, Mama! For seven years!"

Her heart broke at the sound of her oldest daughter's name, but she forced herself to remain calm. "That can't be true, Shell. It's not possible."

"But it is, Mama! Remember when they found Glinda Upland and the others?"

"Shell, Glinda Upland and the other captives were found scalped. They were murdered after being taken." She swallowed thickly, her voice breaking. _Just like my baby girl._

The boy shook his head. "Not Elia, Mama! _Listen!_ Go on, Nessa! Read it!"

A moment passed, before the girl did as told, her voice filled with excitement. "'It has been discovered that a white girl has been held captive by a tribe or Arjiki indians. Sophelia Thropp, taken in a raid back in eighteen-hundred-fifty-six, was discovered by scouts to have been living with her captors, the Arjiki, in a village within the Thousand Year Grasslands. The raid, which took place a week ago, was successful in securing the release of Miss Thropp from her captivity. Being held at Fort Restwater, Miss Thropp was discovered to have been dressed in animal skins, her hair in braids, and with the most curious diamond tattoos that start at her shoulders and go all the way down her back to her buttocks. She appeared to speak only Arjiki and had no knowledge of the ways of civilized society, refusing the dress and shoes given to her by one of the wives of an officer at the fort."

Melena slowly sank into a chair at the kitchen table. It certainly sounded like they had found her daughter, but any white girl could come in and say she was Sophelia and no one would know the difference, certainly not an officer.

"... Miss Thropp is to be returned to her family within the week, and hopefully, she will soon forget her whole terrible ordeal.' Oh, Mama, isn't it wonderful? Mama?"

Their mother slowly looked up, tears in her eyes. "Mama, what's wrong?" She asked, sitting beside her. "Aren't you happy? They finally found Elia. She's coming home. Papa's gone to get her."

Slowly, Melena wiped the tears off her cheeks. "How does an officer really know that it is her? How do they know that's Elia? It could be someone else-"

"Papa will know. Papa's never forgotten what Elia looks like. He'll know as soon as he sees her." Nessa cut her mother off, joining them at the table. A moment passed, before Melena reached out, tugging the paper towards her. Across the top, in bold, black lettering were the words,

 _THROPP GIRL FOUND!_

She sincerely hoped it was true.

Of all of them, Melena had suffered the most after Sophelia's capture. She was closest to her oldest, and not having made it to her in time that long ago day in the Thousand Year Grasslands ate away at the mother of three, for she blamed herself for Sophelia being taken that day. If she'd been paying more attention, had insisted she walk with her and her brother and sister instead of allowing her to ride with her father, like she'd intended, maybe she would still be here.

She certainly wouldn't have been found living with some savages after seven years, if the story was true and the headline to be believed.

After the other captives had been found at the Scrow camp- after a raid had been carried out to save them- and the scalps had been found, Melena had prayed that Sophelia was not among them. She had been so relieved to learn that there was no set of black braids among the scalps, but worried as well. If she had not been scalped as the others had, then where was her daughter?

A person did not just vanish off the face of the earth after being captured in a raid on a wagon train. Apparently, of the story was true, she had been sold to the Arjiki as a captive and forced to live among them for seven years.

After a moment, she got up, going to the window. "Mama?" But she ignored Nessa, lost in thought.

They had made a space for her in this house Frexpar had built, not long after they arrived and chose their plot of land. She had made a quilt for her bed, and kept it in the hope chest that had come with them, waiting for the day she could give it to her oldest daughter. She wrapped her arms around herself. She had prayed for news like this, for seven years. And finally, her prayers had been answered.

Her daughter was coming home.


	20. Chapter 20

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Fort Restwater_

He couldn't believe it, after seven years, he was going to see his beloved Sophelia again.

When the news had broke-

He looked up; an Officer Cavlish stepped out of the small study they had left her in, and he nodded to him to enter. Once the door shut behind him, his gaze sought out the little girl who'd been taken from him. Instead, his gaze landed on a young woman, pressed back against the farthest wall, watching this strange man like a hawk. In an animal skin dress and moccasins, she wore her hair in two braids down either side of her head, and kept her gaze locked on him, shifting against the wall each time he moved. The dress, undergarments and boots that had been laid out on the table for her were on the floor.

"Elia? Sophelia, honey, it's me. It's Papa. Remember?"

The girl shifted, trying to move as far away from him as possible.

For the briefest of moments, he doubted it was her, but as he got closer, he realized that it indeed was his missing daughter. Though seven years had passed, she had grown up, turning into a woman, despite the child he saw in his mind. She had filled out, as all girls do, but there was something about the way she had filled out- as though she had at one time become pregnant and bore a child. Beneath the buckskin dress, he could just make out the soft curves of his daughter's body, similar to his wife's curves- for they were curves brought on by pregnancy and childbirth.

 _For the love of the Unnamed God, what did those savages do to you, my child? Did they force you to marry one of their own and bear his children? A... A savage?_

Finally, they were only a foot apart; she kept herself pressed against the wall, her gaze never leaving him. Now as close as she would allow, he could clearly see how his child had changed in her seven years away. It wasn't just the dress and moccasins, or the way she had filled out, but it was in her stance. Though she was pressed against the wall, a clearly caged animal, she still held herself as though she had importance, still lifted her chin as though she were showing she were good enough.

"My darling Elia... it's... it's so wonderful to finally have you back. We were certain-" But she backed up further, her breathing growing heavy, as though she were trying to figure out the best way to get run. It wasn't that she didn't know how to fight; Fiyero had taught her, so that she knew how to protect herself, it was that she wanted a way out, and so would react as any animal would-

He pulled back; he shouldn't have reached for her, it was too soon. It was clear she did not want to be touched. They stayed like that for several minutes, a foot between them, silent, staring at each other. They came from two separate worlds, both civilized in their own right, though both saw the other as savage. Eventually, Frexpar whispered,

"Oh, Sophelia, my darling child, what have they done to you?"

She did not react at all to her name, for it was not the name she went by. It was foreign, as was this entire world she had been thrust into, as foreign as the strange clothing they had given her, and the room they had left her in. As foreign as the man standing before her. She wanted to go home, back to her tribe, to her husband and children, her family. She looked around for something she could grab, anything really, that she could use to defend herself-

He stepped back, giving her more space, giving her enough space to walk around him if she wanted, and she took that as her opportunity to flee from the corner she'd backed herself into. Two armed uniformed officers stood on the other side of the door, in case there was trouble, but she made her way to the window instead, struggling to get it open.

"Sophelia!"

Though she didn't recognize the name, she recognized the tone; it was one Fiyero often used when in heated debate with another tribesman, one they both used when the children got rowdy. Slowly, she turned, meeting the man's gaze. He moved to the table, staying on one side of it, giving her as much space as she wished. And then he began to talk. "You're mother is going to be so thrilled to finally see you again, after all these years. We prayed every night that you'd be found. We never stopped searching for you. Not once. We have a room for you at the house. We finally have our own land. You're going to love it. And now that we've found you, that house will finally be a home."

She looked up at him, one word registering in her mind.

 _Home._

 _Casa._

He was here to take her back to his home. She shook her head. No, she didn't want to go to his home, she wanted to go back to hers, to the one she'd created with her tribe, her family-

 _"No. Mi casa."_

He furrowed a brow, confused. But before he could say anything, a firm knock sounded at the door, and someone entered. "Mr. Thropp?" The other man turned. "I'm Tibbett. I'm a translator. I was sent to see if I could be of some help."

Frexpar furrowed a brow. "You... can speak her language?" The young man nodded, and after a moment, turned to Sophelia. He said something to her in a foreign tongue, and the woman shook her head, speaking rapidly in the same language back to him. "What did my daughter say?"

"She wants to go home."

"I'm going to take her home. We leave tonight."

Tibbett shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "No, you don't understand, Mr. Thropp. She wants to return to _her_ home, with the tribe. She does not want to be in your savage country, as she calls it."

"Savage?" Frexpar started, to hear such a thing come from his own daughter. "We're the most civilized people in the world! The people who are savage are the ones who took her from us! The ones we rescued her from!"

"She does not see it that way, Mr. Thropp. The Arjiki are quite civilized; she's lived among them for the last several years." She spoke rapidly to the translator, who stopped, allowing her to speak. "She married their Crown Prince, she had a family with him; she's quite happy among her tribe."

Frexpar's heart fell. So she had married and had children- a prince, which made her a princess. Seven years, his daughter had been among the Arjiki, living as though she were one of them, to the point where she had even forgotten her own language. _Once she returns to civilized society, she could write a book and call it Seven Years Among the Arjiki, if she wished._

"Her mother and siblings and I want her home. We've spent seven years looking for her, _please_."

Tibbett turned from the older man to the young woman before him. There was no way he could grant one's wish without making the other miserable or destroying their hopes. A compromise, would that be possible? Could she go home with her father for a little while, to see her family, if they allowed her to return to her tribe after an allotted amount of time? Would that work? Could such a compromise be reached?

He knew it couldn't, but he had to try. For he himself had been a captive of the Arjiki when he was a child, also stolen in a raid by the Yunamata, and could attest to the peaceful way of life they lived. He knew the world Elphaba came from, and knew how difficult it was to re-assimilate back into 'civilized' society after years away; he had done it, but it had come at a cost. Now, he helped other captives like her to find that balance, or try to. But he also knew, that eventually, something would have to give- either she would re-assimilate back into society, or return to her tribe.

Frexpar watched as the translator turned back to her, asked her a couple questions, and listened to her hurried responses. After several minutes of conversation, he turned back to the older man. "She will give you a week."

 _"A week?"_

"She will stay with you and your family, in your world, for a week, and then you are to return her to her tribe, or her husband will come in search of her; for you do not steal from the Arjiki."

Frexpar shook his head. "No. She's my daughter. She's going home with me permanently. Not for a week, forever. She's _my_ child! _They_ stole her from _us_!"

"The Arjiki did not _steal_ her from you; the Scrow stole her from you. The Arjiki bought her from the Scrow and gave her a home when she would have been killed." He turned back to her, and she said something Frexpar couldn't understand, but he watched as she cradled her arms, and though she were cradling a baby. Her voice broke, and he felt tears come to his eyes, though he couldn't be sure why. "A week. And once that week is up, she is to return to her husband and children. You should be grateful she is giving you that."

He lifted his chin. "And if we don't?"

Tibbett turned back to her, relaying the question, before turning back with her response. "And if you don't, when the Arjiki come for her, she will not hesitate to ask that they kill you."

The older man paled, his gaze going to his daughter, who lifted her chin in defiance. _"Una settimana."_

The translator nodded to her, before going to the door. He turned back to Frexpar; it was evident, that the older man knew he had no choice but to agree. The look in his eyes said everything. "One week. Or face the consequences."


	21. Chapter 21

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _One week._

They only had one week with their daughter, and if they didn't release her after, she would ask that they be killed...

What kind of people had she lived around, that she would ask for such a thing and have it possibly carried out? Tibbett's words rang loud in his head.

 _You do not steal from the Arjiki._

But how could it be stealing if the scouts had simply taken back what was rightfully the family's? They had merely retrieved her from her captivity and could help her to re-assimilate back into civilized society. How was _that_ stealing? If anything, what the Arjiki had done to them was stealing. Forcing her to live with them, marry one of them, have children, forget her native tongue...

 _That_ was stealing. The Arjiki had stolen their daughter from them and in return, they'd gotten back a stranger.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She sat beside him on the front seat of the cart, though she'd put as much distance as she could between them. Tibbett rode on a horse beside them, for Frexpar had asked him to come along to translate.

Finally, after several hours, they reached the cabin; Nessa and Shell stood on the small porch, eagerly awaiting the return of the sister they'd lost seven years ago. At the sound of the horses, Melena joined them, watching in silence as Frexpar called the horses to stop and got down. He reached up to help the young woman beside him down, but she pulled away, refusing to move before Tibbett nodded that it was okay.

"Frexpar? Where is she? Where's Sophelia?" Her husband sighed as he made his way towards them, turning back to the young woman.

"That is Sophelia, Melena. They found her living among a tribe of savages."

Nessa cried out in shock, covering her mouth. To read it in the newspapers was one thing, but to actually hear it from her father's lips was another thing entirely. She turned her gaze back to the girl still sitting on the cart, and then got off the porch, moving closer to get a better look. The girl watched her with caution in her eyes. She certainly looked like her older sister, with the same dark eyes and long black hair pulled back in two thick braids down her back. But she wore an animal skin dress and moccasins, and wore a look of distrust on her pretty features. "S... Sophelia? Is it really you?"

The girl turned to the translator, who simply shook his head. She turned back to the girl, studying her silently. "Elphaba."

"What?"

"She goes by what the Arjiki call her. Her name is Elphaba." Nessa turned to the man, who she now realized was a translator.

"Can't she tell me that herself?"

Tibbett glanced at Elphaba, who lifted her chin, crossing her arms in defiance. "She does not speak your language. She only speaks the language of the Arjiki. She does not know your words or customs. Or your," He glanced at Elphaba again. "savage way of life."

 _"Savage?"_ Nessa's mouth dropped open. "We're not savage! The savages are the ones who stole her from us seven years ago!"

"The Scrow stole her away; the Arjiki gave her a home, just as they gave me a home when I was a child, much younger than her. You call us savage, but we live a peaceful life."

"Then why are you not still with them?" Nessa demanded, hands on her small hips. Tibbett's eyes filled with sadness.

"I was captured in a raid and brought back to 'society' and forced to re-assimilate. Now I try to bridge the gap between my two worlds." He turned to Elphaba and spoke rapidly to her, even as Melena's voice broke through the quiet of the prairie.

 _"A week!"_ Nessa turned back to the porch, but Tibbett's voice caused her to return her attention to them.

"She shall stay a week in your world with you, and then she shall be returned to the Arjiki, to her husband and children. If this deal is not kept, she will have you and your family killed, for you have stolen from the Arjiki, and you do not steal from them. Especially not their Crown Princess."

 _"What? You can't do that!"_

"Those are the terms."

 _"That's not fair, she's my sister!"_

Tibbett said something to Elphaba, who shook her head, responding softly. "She has no sister."

Tears began to fill Nessa's eyes, and she turned to the older girl. "Elia, don't you remember me? It's Nessa. We used to play together all the time, remember?"

The girl shook her head at Tibbett's translation, and before she could respond, Shell rushed down to join them, arms out wide. He hadn't been listening to his parents' conversation; instead, he'd been focused on his sisters' conversation. "Elia! You're finally home!"

But Nessa grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could reach up and attempt to hug the older girl. "She doesn't remember us, Shell."

"What? That's silly, Nessa! Of course Elia remembers us!" But she tightened her hold on her little brother's arm, shaking her head. He turned to the older girl, taking a deep breath. "Elia?" The girl didn't respond.

"She goes by a different name, Shell." Nessa whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"What is it?"

"El... Elphaba."

The boy turned back to the older girl, letting the name sink in. "Eli... Elphaba?" Slowly, the older girl turned her attention to the teenager. She spoke rapidly in a language Shell didn't understand, and the man on the horse nodded.

"She says that you remind her of her sons, and that she wishes she were back with them instead of here. She wishes that you had never found her."

"Sons?" Everyone turned as Melena and Frexpar joined them. A soft cry escaped Melena's throat as she laid eyes on her oldest daughter. Tibbett nodded, saying something to Elphaba, who nodded once.

"She has two sons and a daughter-"

 _Three babes. My daughter is barely nineteen and she has already given birth to three babes._

"Mama?" She snapped out of her thoughts, turning to Shell.

"Yes, well, please, come in, both of you. You both must be starving." And then she turned on her heel and trekked back to the house.


	22. Chapter 22

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She let her gaze wander about the cabin.

So _this_ was the white man's home. There were no animals skins or bedrolls tucked away, no small fire within the stone circle of a heart, no woven baskets of which clothing was kept in. She had no desire to learn what each object was within the two rooms, nor where the stairs led to- four bedrooms, one for the man who called himself her 'father' and his wife, one for the girl and one for the boy, and another, which was possibly meant for her. A fire burned in the fireplace, despite the spring weather, a cast iron pot hanging over the flames. The strong scent of something met her nose, and she wrinkled it.

"Come sit, please."

She turned to the older woman, who beckoned her to follow. She watched the woman make her way towards the Quoxwood table, where the boy and girl were seated, watching her. A moment passed, before she felt a presence behind her and turned; Tibbett rested a hand on her shoulder. " _Lei desidera per voi di unirsi a loro._ "

 _Join them?_ She shook her head. She would not join them. She would not sit and break bread with this white man and his family, not when his savage people had stolen her away from her husband, her children, her tribe, the only home she had ever known. She shook her head again, crossing her arms. No, she would not join them. Nor would she return to them, as they apparently so desperately wished.

"Please, Elia." Her gaze moved up, locking with the girl's. She looked to be no older than seventeen, with her dark hair down her back in two thick braids. She wore a dress of blue paisley print, and a pair of scuffed black boots. Were it not for the buckskin she herself wore, they could have been sisters.

 _Don't you remember me? It's Nessa. She's my sister!_

According to the white man, they _were_ sisters.

She let her gaze wander over the girl once more, drinking in the print of the dress. It seemed... oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it.

 _Faded blue paisley print, turning to ash within the flames of the bonfire._

"Elphaba." Her head lifted. "Please, Elphaba." The girl corrected softly. "Come sit. Eat." She glanced at Tibbett. "Both of you."

A moment passed, before Tibbett moved to follow the girl, glancing back at her. _"Una settimana, Elphaba. Una settimana, e poi si può andare a casa."_ Her gaze never left his, and it was clear, the question in her eyes.

 _Do you promise?_

He nodded once, before turning back. Taking a deep breath, she slowly followed, glancing at the strange wooden table and chairs. She watched the others take seats, before slowly doing the same. Without a word, the older woman filled a bowl with stew from the pot, and handed them out. Seated next to Tibbett, she watched him, slowly imitating him; Nessa and Shell watched her, fascinated. This young woman, who had spent the first fourteen or so years of her life with them before being captured, had once had perfect table manners, and now, due to her time with the savages, could not remember how to use something as simple as a spoon. Melena, for her part, was simply relieved to have her daughter back. Though she could not wrap her mind around the fact that they were only allowed a week with her.

Once the meal was eaten and the dishes cleared away, the girl, Nessa, led her up the stairs; four rooms were at the top, the bedrooms. They moved down the short hallway, Nessa glancing back at the older girl every so often. Eventually, they came to a door at the end of the hall, and Nessa pushed it open, stepping back so she could step inside. "This is your room, Elia- sorry, Elphaba. Papa added and furnished it when he built the house, and Mama and I decorated it so that it would be ready for you when you finally returned... home... to us."

Slowly, she entered, taking in the simple bed with the patchwork quilt, the small nightstand, dresser and desk and wash basin, the window with the checkered curtains. It was... quaint... fit for a girl in the white man's world. But not her. Her gaze drifted to the bed. It was raised slightly off the ground, unlike the Arjiki, who slept on bedrolls and animal hides and woven blankets, who slept near fires within stone pits that kept their tents warm. She turned her gaze away, the sudden realization that for at least the next week- if the whites kept their word- she would be alone, without the comfort of her husband's arms around her, the reassurance that her children were not far away, but across the flames of the small fire in their tent, content in sleep.

The other girl's gaze went to the window. Darkness had quickly fallen, as it did so often in the spring here, and after a moment, she moved around her sister, going to the dresser. Elphaba watched as she opened one of the drawers and pulled out a dress made of cotton fabric- a nightgown. The girl held it out to her, and she stared at it, drinking in the long sleeves, high neck and long skirt, so different from the buckskin she often wore to bed.

"Here, let me help you." When she didn't reach out and take it, the girl gathered it, holding it out to her. Was this young girl insane? She expected her to just strip from her dress and accept that... strange article of clothing to wear? A moment passed, before the girl lowered her arms. "Don't you understand? Don't you remember? Elia, it's a nightgown. We wear these to bed-" Her eyes widened. "Oh!" She blushed, cheeks coloring pink. "You must not... have worn anything to bed when you lived with the savages, did you?"

Dark eyes narrowed. Though she did not understand their language, she understood the word 'savage' and what it meant in their world. And that they did not see themselves as the savages.

"I... I'm sorry, Elia, I... I didn't mean... I just... I was just..." Nessa stopped; though Tibbett had made it clear she went by a different name, it was hard to keep herself from using the name she knew her sister by. She sighed. "Please?"

After a moment- and realizing that the sooner she undressed, the sooner sleep could claim her and the sooner the week would be up and she could return to her tribe- Elphaba slowly undressed, slipping out of the buckskin dress she wore. The younger girl blushed, to see her sister's blatant nudity, but she watched anyway as the older girl turned, folding up her dress neatly and placing it upon the nightstand. Her eyes widened, and she gasped softly.

There, cascading from her older sister's shoulders to her buttocks like a waterfall, were hundreds of emerald green diamonds, of all sizes, tattooed within her creamy, milky skin.


	23. Chapter 23

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She had so many questions- did they hurt? How were they added? _Why_ were they added? What was the significance of the green? Why diamonds? Tibbett had said something during dinner about her being a princess- were they a sign of her status?

And then her sister turned around, and she saw the soft, supple curves that spoke of a woman's body, a woman who had been touched by a man in _that_ way, who had born children from her womb, who had known the desires of the flesh.

 _Tibbett had said when they arrived that Elia had had children. Was it against her will? Was she forced to... to bear a savage's children, or did she do so willingly? No, that's preposterous. Nothing those... those savages do is willing. Most likely she was forced._ She swallowed, letting her gaze rove over her sister's body. _She's almost proud. She is not ashamed, why? A proper woman would be ashamed to be see in nothing but bare skin-_

Without a word and a blush covering her cheeks, she hesitantly held out the nightgown; a moment passed, before Elphaba slowly stepped forward, allowing Nessa to help her into it. At least it was a shimmer of cooperation, compared to earlier. A flicker of sadness passed through Nessa's gaze, as she watched her sister's body disappear beneath the cotton garment; those beautiful, startling tattoos vanishing from sight in seconds. As she gently smoothed the material, she let her hands linger on Elphaba's waist, fingers gently moving up to trace the curves she possessed- curves Nessa could never dream of possessing. _To do so, would I too have to lay with a savage, like my sister?_

She bit her lip, glancing up at Elphaba. The girl's dark gaze latched onto hers, and a for the briefest of moments, she caught something glimmering in the dark eyes. Recognition? Or confusion? Sadness? Or pity? Or perhaps a little of each. "I... I missed you."

It was forced, strained, as tears began to prick her eyes and clog her throat. The older girl pulled away, turning from her, hands moving lightly over the material of the nightgown, as though she were trying to figure out the best way to remove it from her body without having to touch it.

Releasing a sigh, Nessa moved to perch on the edge of the bed, and Elphaba turned, watching as she did so. "I'm sorry, Elia. I just... it's been so long... _seven_ years... last time I saw you, you were just about to turn fourteen... and now... now you're... you're grown... not my sister at all... but you still are..." She sniffled; Elphaba said nothing. A soft knock on the door stopped broke the awkward silence, and after a moment, Melena poked her head in.

"I just... wanted to check on you; see how you two were doing."

"She won't talk, Mama." Nessa whispered, and Melena nodded. Tibbett had informed her and Frexpar that there was a language barrier- that, having assimilated into the Arjiki, having lived with them for the last seven years, her native tongue was completely forgotten, now replaced with the language of the tribe. Melena sighed; if the language barrier would be a problem, then she would try her best to reach her daughter despite it. After a moment, Melena slipped into the room, letting her gaze rest on her oldest.

 _How could this have happened to us? What spiteful god deemed it important for my belo_ _ved daughter to be snatched from us? To be kept from us for seven long years, while she lived among the... the..._ Melena shook her head. No, she wouldn't allow herself to be caught up in the fear. Tibbett had told them that the Arjiki were a peaceful people; that they lived a harmonious existence with nature, that they had given him- as they'd given her- safety, food, shelter, a life. A _home_.

Within the wild lands of the Vinkus, there had been a home for her.

She let her gaze rove over her oldest, who stood frozen in the nightgown, long black braids tumbling over her shoulders. With the garment on, it was impossible to tell that she was a grown woman at all; she looked a teenager. The cotton material hid the curves she'd retained after childbirth, hid the fact that she had even borne children at all, hid the diamonds tattooed on her back, and stripped away the years. After a moment, she reached out to brush her thumb against her daughter's cheek. Elphaba jerked away from her with a glare.

A soft sigh escaped Melena's throat, and she sank onto the bed beside Nessa. She looked around, drinking in the room. Her gaze lit on the hope chest at the foot, where the quilt she'd made for her daughter resided; when she was ready, when the time was right, when Elia finally remembered who she was and decided to remain, to stay, to return home, _then_ Melena would give her the quilt. "Yes, well, we had best let Elphaba get some rest. It's been a long day. Come along, Nessa."

Without a word, she stood, going to the door. After several minutes, Nessa followed. As she followed her mother down the stairs, she spoke, her voice soft. "She has the tattoos, Mama." Melena stopped, at the foot of the stairs. "The tattoos written about in the papers. They're all down her back, like a waterfall of green diamonds."

Her mother nodded, silent, before making her way into the kitchen. Shell had already gone to bed, and Nessa looked up to see Papa and Tibbett sitting at the table. Eventually, Tibbett got up, bidding everyone goodnight. Melena turned to her daughter. "Go to bed, Nessa." The girl didn't protest, doing as told. Once the girl was gone, Melena took a seat beside her husband. She turned to Frex. "What do we do? Do we let go at the end of the week? Or make her stay?"

"If we refuse to let her go, the Arjiki will kill us."

She met his gaze. "And if we let her go, we lose her forever."


	24. Chapter 24

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

He had to get her back.

Though it had only been a couple days, it was not the same. Life seemed bleak without her; it was as though the Great Father had turned back time, to before she had arrived, before the Scrow had taken her and the others in the raid. Avaric spent most of his time in counsel with the other elders, deciding on the best course of action to get her back. Occasionally, Fiyero would join his father, but there were times when he could not bear to listen.

Inaction, when they needed action. They had to _do something_.

She was their Crown Princess, the wife of the next Arjiki Chief, the mother of the future Chief of the Arjiki... he could not just sit by while his beloved wife faced God knew what at the hands of the white man.

"Papa?"

He looked up, torn from his thoughts. Irji sat beside him, tears in his eyes. It did not seem possible, that their oldest son had turned four moons two weeks ago, and now, his mother was gone, stolen by whites in a raid on their camp and taken back to their 'civilized' society. Without a word, he opened his arms and the boy crawled into his embrace. The child's sobs broke his heart, and he held his son tight against his chest. _"La riprendo, mio figlio. Promesso."_

 _I will get her back, my son. I promise. I will bring Mama home._

He pressed firm kisses to Irji's head, before looking up. Nor and Manek hid in the corner of the tent, watching their father and older brother with wide, tear-filled eyes. Without a word, he reached for them; the two youngest quickly joined their brother in their father's arms, and he pressed firm kisses to each head of dark hair. Eventually, he pulled away, studying each child, before kissing their forehead and tucking them into bed. Once all three were sound asleep, he slipped out of the tent. Avaric and the elders were just finishing up, and he hurriedly made his way towards his father.

He understood that it was not as simple as raiding an neighboring tribe. These white men had guns, and bullets that could kill in an instant. They could do serious damage to a body if they wished. They were heartless, taking over native lands for their own selfish reasons, for the Arjiki knew of the few tribes within the eastern territories that had once been prosperous, and were now nearly eradicated, due to the white man, their desire for land, and the diseases they spread.

It was this that frightened him the most- disease.

His beloved wife, while having been born among the white man, had lived the last seven years with the Arjiki, which meant she would not be immune to whatever diseases the whites carried. If Elphaba contracted something, and then was returned, whatever she contracted could unknowingly be spread to the tribe, the elders, their children...

"Fiyero."

He met his father's gaze, and Avaric sighed. _"Terra di razziare l'uomo bianco sarebbe troppo rischioso. Potevano ucciderla se proviamo-"_

Fiyero turned to him, stopping near the bonfire. _"Così abbiamo appena lasciarla a loro?" We just allow them to keep her? Those- "Quei selvaggi."_ He felt his blood begin to boil. _"I nostri figli?"_ Tears thickened his voice. _"Hanno bisogno della loro madre, e ho bisogno di mia moglie."_

Avaric sighed. He understood where his son was coming from, he did. He was just as upset and frustrated by Elphaba's kidnapping as his son was, but he _also_ understood that the white man did not play nice. He understood that the white man would not release his daughter-in-law so easily. That they would fight until their dying breath to keep her, for he had seen what the white could do, the danger they posed. He understood that his son was angry, worried, frightened, for her safety, but he also knew that rushing into this would only bring pain- and possibly cost Elphaba her life. They had to play this _carefully_ , if they wanted to get her back alive.

" _Dobbiamo essere attenti deliberato, se siamo per ottenere il suo figlio indietro._ " He gently but firmly took Fiyero's chin in his hand. _"Quando siamo pronti poi andremo dopo di lei."_

Fiyero met his father's gaze. _When we're ready? And when will that be? When my wife is dead of the white man's diseases? Or murdered by their guns?_ A moment passed, before he yanked away, turning and stalking back towards the tent his family shared. Avaric sighed, watching him go, knowing he could not push the young man into understanding, that Fiyero had to come to the understanding on his own.

After checking on his children, he slipped out of the tent, disappearing into the darkness, not far from the camp. Starting a small fire, he then pulled out a small pouch, pouring something into his hand. In the weeks leading up to her kidnapping, Sarima had been teaching Elphaba how to walk between the worlds, for the older woman was a gifted shaman in her own right. Sarima had learned from the shaman himself, becoming his apprentice when she was a mere child, no older than Irji. Sarima was to be the shaman's successor, when it was his time to pass from this world to the next, and she, seeing potential in the young white woman, the young princess, had already designated that Elphaba succeed her.

Fiyero himself had learned very basic skills from the shaman; not long after turning ten moons, he had asked the older man to teach him how to contact spirit of a lost loved one, for he wished to speak with his mother. And now, as he pulled out a small pouch and tossed crushed lavender and rosemary into the flames, he let his mind wander, for he knew that calling to a lost loved one would require one's mind to be relaxed and open.

As the flames danced and the herbs sang, releasing their sweet scents into the air, he closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath as he tried to relax. Minutes passed, minutes filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire, before he felt something brush against his shoulder.


	25. Chapter 25

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She lay among the blankets of this strange bed, in this strange room, in this equally strange house, unable to sleep. The others had retired not long after she had, each of the children stopping by her door and wishing her a good night; the boy, who was perhaps not much older than Fiyero had been when they'd married, called her by the white man's name for her, and then had quickly corrected himself, apologizing for it. The girl on the other hand, had had to stop and whisper to herself _"Elphaba, not Sophelia"_ before speaking. She had responded to neither, and neither had expected a response back. When the older couple came upstairs, a soft knock sounded on the door, and she quickly, silently, climbed out of bed and hurried to the door, pressing herself against it to keep them from entering. They'd stood silent on the other side, and after a moment, the man had spoken up, telling her goodnight. The woman had stayed silent, but soon, soft sobs could be heard, and he led her away. Once they were gone, she'd opened the door; the hallway was deserted, before shutting and locking the door. She'd then slipped back into the bed, but sleep had not come.

The moon shone brightly through the window, and her mind drifted back to the legend of the moon, and the sun, and Daylight, and the bridge of stars that Mother Night cast across the sky so that her son could be with his love. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wished for the bridge of stars to be real, so she might return to Fiyero and her children, to her tribe, where she truly belonged. Eventually, the moon's familiar, comforting light lulled her to sleep.

Her eyes opened, and she found herself in a clearing; she could see the light from the bonfire, and knew she wasn't far from camp. But still, what was she doing so far from the comfort of her home? Where were her children? Were they all right? It was then that she saw who had called her. Slowly, she circled the fire, drinking in her husband as he sat before her, eyes closed and relaxed. A moment passed, before she moved closer, reaching out. Could she touch him? _Dare_ she?

Her hand brushed against his shoulder, and slowly, his eyes opened. "Yero?"

Her soft voice filled his ears, and he looked up. _"Fabala."_ A smile tugged at her features, and tears began to gather in her eyes. _"Speravo che-"_

 _"Mi hai chiamato."_ He had called her? How had he known to- She shook her head. That didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was there, they were together, if only while she walked between the worlds on this first night in the white man's home. Tears came to her eyes. _"Fiyero."_

He stood, reaching out, grabbing her face in his hands, for it was in this realm, this in-between the worlds, that he could touch his wife again, despite the miles and land that currently separated them. To feel her skin beneath his, even if it was only in this realm, was something he would cherish until she was back in his arms for real. _"Vi porterò indietro. Io vi porterò a casa, per la vostra tribù, alla tua famiglia, ai nostri figli. Fabala, promesso. Promesso."_

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks, her heart soaring in her chest. She could see the frustration in his blue eyes, hear it in his voice, and knew that Avaric was forcing him to wait, to be patient, and bide their time before they came for her. _Come now!_ She wished to scream. _Do not let Father make you wait! Come now and steal me away, take me back to our tribe, bring me home, to my babies, to my life with you! Please! "Yero."_

He waited, silent, allowing her to gather her thoughts. She bit her lip, that beautiful mouth he loved so tilting downwards in worry. _"Fabala? Che cos'è?"_ Slowly, she met his gaze. Should she tell him? Of the threat she had declared to the white man and his family? She knew that despite her husband's gentle nature, he was a fierce warrior, perhaps one of the best of the tribe. She knew that he would do any and all he could to protect her and their children, even take the life of an enemy, especially if his family was in danger.

And as far as she was concerned, the Thropps _were_ the enemy.

 _Just tell him. Tell him that you have informed the Thropps that if they do not return you within a week's time to your tribe, that you will have them killed. He will understand._ Taking a deep breath, she reached up, caressing his cheek. _"Ho..."_ She stopped, swallowing. _"Ho li ha informati che hanno una settimana, e poi devono restituirmi alla mia tribù, a voi, e se non riescono a farlo..."_ She swallowed. _"Allora li ucciderò."_

His eyes widened in surprise only briefly, before he sighed, resting his forehead to hers. _I will come for you._ Gently, he nuzzled his nose against hers. _"Vengo per te, mia Fabala."_ She smiled softly, choking on a sob, before throwing her arms around his neck. He held her close, relishing the feel of her, despite the realm she walked in at the moment. _"Presto il mi amore. Presto vengo per voi e portare a casa."_ He pulled away, meeting her gaze. _Soon, I will bring you home, my love._

With a soft sigh, she kissed him; though it would not make up for reality, it was still better than nothing. When they broke apart, she met his gaze once more. Just as she was about to speak, she felt a tugging. She was ripped from Fiyero's arms, pulled out of the in-between realm, and back into her body. Her eyes snapped open; the moon shone in through the window, dancing across her face, reminding her of where she was, and that her family, her tribe, were so very, very far away.


	26. Chapter 26

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Thropp Household_

 _Day One_

She stared at the dress, at the strange looking undergarments, the black boots and the funny hat. The print of the dress was a very pretty flowered green, the skirt coming to brush at her ankles, and the sleeves came down to her wrists. The teenage girl had slipped into the room that morning after knocking and asking permission. She'd then pulled the clothing from the drawers, and laid them out, having brought a pair of boots with her. She now stood on one side of the room, with Elphaba on the other, holding the green dress out to her with an imploring look that meant she was closer to tears.

" _Please,_ Elphaba. I'm _begging_ you. You _can't_ wear the animal skin. We're going into town today; Papa said we could go to the general store. What will people think if they saw you in that? This is much more respectable."

She shook her head, crossing her arms with a glare. It wasn't like the night before; she was putting her foot down. She would not wear that... that dress out. She would not go out, if she could keep from doing so. She'd stay here, in the house, until the week was up and then demand that she be taken back to her tribe, regardless of what the _Thropps_ wanted.

Minutes passed, a soft knock sounded on the door. "Nessa? Is... is Elphaba ready?"

Slowly, the door opened, and Melena found her daughters in a silent standoff on either side of the room. Elphaba, arms crossed and glaring, still wore the nightgown she'd been given the night before, and Nessa, looking about to cry, stood holding the green dress out to her sister. With a soft sigh, Melena slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Half an hour later, Tibbett, Frex and Shell looked up as Melena came down the stairs. "Mama?"

She smiled softly at her only son, reaching out to ruffle his black hair. The boy pulled away, but halfheartedly, as his mother sighed. "Everything's okay, Shell. Your sister was just... being difficult. That has not changed about her. She and Nessa will be down shortly."

The boy nodded, noticing how his mother refused to say his oldest sister's name, but he didn't have a chance to question it, as two pairs of footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and he turned, to see Elphaba being pulled down the stairs by Nessa's tight grip on her wrist. The older girl had been forced into the green dress, pantaloons, camisole, dress, black boots and bonnet rather reluctantly. Her hair, those twin black braids she'd been sporting when she arrived, the braids she'd worn for years in the tribe- for no matter if she'd lived the last seven years in a savage's village or in the Town of Nest Hardings, she was still a grown woman of nineteen, and that, therefore, meant she was an adult by societies' standards- was pulled back in a bun; it was evident that Mama had simply pulled the braids up and wrapped them around one another before pinning the bun to her head. The bonnet was tied around her neck and hung down her back.

Even from this distance, Shell could see that his oldest sister had grown up. She looked much more respectable and civilized now that she wasn't in that strange dress and moccasins. She looked as though she could pass for any other respectable lady of Nest Hardings. She grabbed onto the banister at the bottom of the stairs and Nessa turned, annoyance lighting in her eyes; Shell could see the remnants of tears on her cheeks. "Don't act this way, Elia. You're home now. You need to be grateful that you were rescued from those... those savages."

Something flashed in the other woman's dark eyes, and without a word, she released the banister, rearing back and slapping Nessa hard across the cheek. The younger girl squeaked in surprise, before her own dark eyes narrowed. "Do you feel better now?" Though she didn't understand the language, she knew the tone, and the young princess nodded. "Good." And without another word or even a warning, Nessa hauled off and returned the slap, startling her sister. _"So do I!"_

Elphaba yanked her hand from her sister's grasp, lashing out with her foot; in one swift motion, Nessa was sitting on the floor, her sister standing over her. Neither said a word, though Nessa reached out, grabbing her sister's ankle and tugging, pulling her down the last couple of steps onto the floor with her. By the time the adults made it back into the room, the girls' minor argument had turned into a fight that ended with Nessa straddling her sister, hands laced with hers, holding her arms at bay. "You're not a savage, Elia! You're a white! You're a part of our family! You're my older sister and I love you! And you're home! You belong with us! Don't you understand? You're home!"

Frex and Tibbett were able to pull the younger girl off her sister and haul her into the kitchen. "Nessarose! What is the meaning of this?"

 _"She fought me, Papa! She fought me and Mama about putting the dress on! She fought us about everything! She's only been here barely a day and she acts as though she's better than us! As though she doesn't understand anything, but I know she does! She understands everything but she hides behind those... those savages! Those... horrible, evil people who stole her away from us and..."_ The girl dissolved into tears, and with a sigh, Frex pulled his youngest daughter close, letting her cry. He turned back to see Melena watching the entire scene, Shell leaning against her side. Tibbett was talking softly with Elphaba, who kept her gaze on Nessa.

"Maybe it's best if we don't allow the children to go into town today, Frex. What would people say if another fight broke out between them?" She ran her fingers through Shell's hair, but her husband shook her head.

"She's going to have to leave this house and go into town at some point, Melena, especially if she's going to be staying. Best get it over with. The sooner we re-assimilate her back into society, the better." He glanced at his oldest daughter, and his wife followed his gaze. "She's been with them too long-"

"She knows nothing else, Frex." Melena sniffled, brushing a tear off her cheek. "How are we going to get her back if she refuses to re-assimilate? We can't send her back to those savages. I won't. I lost my daughter once, and she was gone for seven years, I won't lose her again."

Her husband sighed, brushing a kiss to Nessa's head. The girl's sobs had quieted by then, and he gently rocked her back and forth. "We have to go into town, Melena. There are things we need." He brushed his fingers through Nessa's hair. "Perhaps it'd be best if we make it a family outing instead of just the children. Then if something happened, we would be there to stop it, or at least get it under control." He glanced towards Tibbett. "And Mr. Tibbett will be there, he'll be able to keep her calm. He's been in her position, after all."

A moment passed, before Melena slowly nodded, pulling away from her son and grabbing her own bonnet. She quickly put it on, tying it beneath her chin. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her husband. "I hope you're right, Frex."


	27. Chapter 27

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _A family outing,_ Tibbett had told her.

That's what Mr. Thropp had called it.

A _family_ outing.

Her cheek still stung from the girl's slap, though it could have been the heat from the sun, she wasn't sure. All she knew for certain was that she had been forced into these strange-looking clothes, her hair had been put up, and now, she was being helped down from the wagon in the town the Thropps lived not far from.

 _Nest Hardings_ , as they had called it.

It was small, with a bunch of wooden buildings lining the streets, wooden pathways leading down past each one on either side. Horses and carts were everywhere; somewhere, music could be heard, and she smelled something strong.

Without a word, Mrs. Thropp made her way over to her, linking their arms. She threaded their fingers, and gently but firmly guided her up onto the wooden boardwalk and into the store they had pulled up too, the others following. It was clear by the firmness of her grip that the older woman wasn't going to let her run. Once inside, her grip loosened slightly; and Elphaba found herself staring at shelf upon shelf of canned goods, boxes of dried goods, bolts of brightly colored fabric, jars of candy in all shapes and sizes... the goods in this store went on forever. A small, pot-belly stove sat at the far back, near stacks of barrels and other goods.

"Good morning, Mrs. Thropp. I see you brought the whole family today." A young man, not much older than her, came in from the back, a white apron on over his black pants and white, long-sleeved shirt. His dark hair was parted down the side, and he smiled softly at the older woman, before his gaze lit to her. "And... who is this?"

"Good morning, Boq. This is my oldest daughter, Elia."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Elia? So what the paper said was true. Missing for seven years, but surely not found among-" Melena nodded, which was all the confirmation he needed. "Ah. Well, it's good that she's finally returned home to you, Mrs. Thropp. Maybe now your family can recover from the last seven years." He gently patted her hand, and she smiled softly at him, keeping her mouth shut about the deal she and her husband had made with their oldest daughter.

After several minutes, the older woman slowly released her, letting her wander about the small general store with her other children, though she kept an eye on her, as did Mr. Thropp and Tibbett. She wandered over to the bolts of fabric, slowly reaching out and running a hand over the cloth, fingers stopping on a blue paisley print, that seemed very vaguely familiar.

 _"A new dress? For me? Oh, Mama, I love it! Thank you!"_

She shook her head, the voice disappearing. Her gaze wandered up, to the ribbons hanging from rolls above the fabric, and her gaze went to the blue not far from her reach. She pulled it closer, studying it, thumb brushing over the soft material gently.

 _"I can't find mine. I promise I'll give them back, Nessa. When have I ever not?"_

Her brow furrowed, but a voice broke her concentration. "El... Elphaba." She turned, to find Nessa and Shell beckoning her over. With one last glance at the ribbons and the cloth, the joined them. They stood before the jars of brightly-colored candies. "Mama said we could each get a piece." Shell told her. "Which one do you want?"

"She doesn't know what they are, Shell." Nessa chided gently, and the boy rolled his eyes, turning to her.

"She doesn't _remember_ , Nessa." He turned back to his oldest sister. Though he was fifteen, he still acted like a child when it came to things like candy. "Those are maples." He pointed to the small, star-shaped candies in clear paper. "Those are rock candies, that's taffy, those are caramels." She let her gaze wander over each candy he pointed out in turn. She'd never seen so many bright colors in one place before. "... that's butterscotch, those are lollies, chocolates, peppermint sticks, cinnamon balls, ginger drops-" Her eyes lit on the small sticks of bright green, pink and white, and she pointed to it it. Her brother's eyebrows rose momentarily before he rolled his eyes. "Peppermint sticks? You've been away living with savages for _seven years_ , and now that you're home, and you have your choice of the _best_ candies in all of Nest Hardings, and you _still choose peppermint sticks_? For the love of Ozma, Elia, couldn't you _at least_ pick _something_ besides pepermi- _ow!_ " He turned to Nessa, who'd slammed her elbow into his ribs. _"What was that for?"_

His voice cracked, and she gave him a look that clearly screamed he was to keep quiet. " _Elphaba_ chose peppermint, Shell. Let her have peppermint. Besides, it's not like _you_ ever change your mind when you get candy. You always get the same thing, too. Or have you suddenly decided that you want something else?" Boq watched the siblings, chuckling softly at the two youngest. The boy grumbled something unintelligible, but sounded suspiciously like, _I don't always get the same thing,_ before looking over each candy in turn before meeting the store owner's gaze.

"Have you made your decision?"

He nodded. "The ginger drops, please."

Nessa rolled her eyes as Boq chuckled, pulling out a ginger drop, a peppermint stick and a maple from each respective jar and placing them in a small bag together. They thanked him, and Nessa took the bag, handing him the fifty cents in return before accepting the change back. " _See?_ You always get the same thing." As the two continued to argue, she wandered back to the bolts of cloth and ribbons, joining Mrs. Thropp, who'd been studying the blue paisley print. Without a word, she reached out, running her fingers over the material, and Melena smiled softly.

"It's quite pretty, isn't it?" Elphaba didn't respond, and Melena sighed, knowing she wouldn't. "I know you don't remember, but I had a bolt of this same fabric, and I made a dress for you out of it for your birthday the year you turned-" She stopped, tears filling her gaze. Elphaba turned to her, and she took a deep breath, blinking the tears away. Gently, Elphaba reached up, brushing a tear away, and Melena smiled softly at her. "Thank you. How about we get this?" She then turned back to her two youngest. "Nessa?" The girl quickly hurried over to her mother. "Come pick out a bolt of fabric. How about I make a new dress, one for you and one for your sister?" Nessa glanced at Elphaba, remembering the struggle they'd had earlier in the day, but the look on her mother's face told her that they were going to put that behind them, and do all they could to make her feel at home. A moment passed, before the younger girl chose a paisley print in red. "Okay. And how about ribbons as well? I know you're supposed to wear your hair up now that you're older-" She reached up, brushing a strand off her youngest daughter's cheek. "But even so, a young woman can still make her hair look pretty, regardless of whether she wears it up or in two braids."

Without a word, both girls reached for the same blue swatch of ribbon, gazes locking as their hands brushed together. Neither said a word, and Melena watched the exchange with a tiny flicker of hope in her heart. "The blue?"

Slowly, both girls pulled away. "Yes, Mama." Elphaba nodded, silent. Quickly, Melena took all three to the front of the store, putting them with the other goods they needed.

Once finished, they returned to the cart for the ride back to the cabin. They'd be home in time for lunch; Tibbett and Shell sat in one corner of the back, sharing stories, and Elphaba and Nessa sat in the other corner, quiet. Halfway up the path to the house, Melena looked back from her seat beside her husband at the front of the card. Neither girl said a word; Elphaba was staring out at the land behind them, the small bag of candies that Nessa had entrusted her for the ride home sitting on her lap, seemingly lost in thought. Nessa sat next to her, head resting on her sister's shoulder. The older girl didn't move, didn't react at all; Melena couldn't tell if it was from worry, fear, or if she was just choosing to ignore it. Her gaze then traveled down; Nessa and Elphaba's hands were loosely linked together, and after a moment, the girl nuzzled her head on her sister's shoulder, squeezing her fingers gently.

As she turned back to the house, Melena thought she caught Elphaba squeeze Nessa's hand faintly in response.


	28. Chapter 28

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Most of the next few chapters focus on Elphaba and her week with the Thropps. Unfortunately, Fiyero and the tribe won't be in the next few chapters for at least... four of them or so. Bear with me. It's just how she rewrote it. Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Something drew her from the bread she was kneading, and she looked up, quickly wiping her hands on her apron and going to the window. Through the glass, she could see her oldest daughter out in the fields behind the house. As soon as they'd returned home, Elphaba had quickly removed the bonnet and boots, discarding them by the door before yanking her hair from the bun it'd been put in earlier. Her thick black braids hung down her back, and she turned her face to the sun. Melena had watched her oldest daughter hurry up the stairs, only to hear a screech come from her room; after managing to wrestle her into the paisley print, Nessa had taken the buckskin dress and moccasins her sister had been found in, and hidden them away in the bottom of the chest in her own room. When asked why, Nessa had replied that maybe, if she didn't have the things that were from the savages, she would have an easier time of readjusting to being back at home.

While her actions made sense in theory, in practice, it was an entirely different matter.

Elphaba, enraged that her sister- this... this _white_ \- had stolen her things, lashed out at the younger girl, chasing her down the stairs and into the kitchen, where, when she finally got a hold of her, proceeded to grab a hold of one of Nessa's thick braids and yank. Nessa, in attempt to stop her, had reached up, doing the first thing she could think of. She scratched her nails quickly across her sister's cheek. As soon as the older girl let go, Nessa had gone fleeing up to her room, and Elphaba, turned, stalking out of the house. It'd been three hours since the latest fight between the girls, and Elphaba _still_ hadn't come inside. Melena prayed she'd come in once it either got dark or she got hungry, whichever came first.

Now, Melena watched her oldest from the kitchen, worrying her bottom lip. She knew this would be difficult, but she wasn't aware of how. She knew the language was a barrier, as were the customs and the way of life, but... _But you expected her to return and just instantly forget that she hasn't spent the last seven years of her life living among the savages. You expected the girl who returned to be the girl who was stolen from you, and she's not. When she looks at you, she doesn't even know you. She knows nothing of your family, or her role in it, that's how immersed she's been in the savages' way of life._

The hem of the skirt of Elphaba's dress picked up in the gentle breeze, and the girl spread her arms wide, face still turned to the sun, as though she were worshiping some god. And then, with a choked sob, her knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground. Melena resisted the urge to rush out and comfort her, for she knew that the girl would only push her away. Her sobs broke the older woman's heart, but she stayed put, no matter how it hurt to not interfere.

 _"You must let her mourn. She sees this return as a captivity. A death. All whites who have lived among the Arjiki and are forced to return to your society do. You call them savages, but the Arjiki are the furthest thing from it. They kill only if they must; they prefer a peaceful existence with the Great Mother, for she provides everything. The Arjiki are not like the Scrow. They do not attempt to wage war on outsiders for crossing through their lands. And they are not like the Yunamata. They do not attempt compromise with the outsiders. They wish to be left in peace; they will join together with other tribes through marriage, trade with them, fight beside them, but ultimately, their way of life is peaceful, secluded to themselves. The Arjiki are a peaceful people, a good people. They cared for me when I was a small boy, stolen by the Scrow and sold to the Yunamata before being traded for. Just as they cared for your daughter; they gave her a home, as they gave me one. And she, like I, came to love them and view herself as one of them, despite the color of her skin. You call them savage, but savage is the furthest thing from the truth."_

She looked up, Tibbett's words fading away as the translator entered the kitchen. The green diamonds that ran in a parallel line down the middle of his face- five from his forehead to his chin, and then four in a diamond shape on each cheek, starting below his eyes- looked exactly like her daughter's. Though unlike Elphaba's-who were not in such a visible place- they still signified that he too had been a captive, he too had been a member of the Arjiki tribe; raised as one, lived as one, and forced to leave the only family he had known. Glancing back at her daughter, Melena forced herself away from the window, fixing two cups of coffee. She set one before the translator, before taking a seat at the table across from him.

"Tell me about them."

Tibbett merely raised an eyebrow.

"Those." She sighed, wrapping her hands around the cup and nodding towards his face. "The diamonds. Tell me about them."

"What do you wish to know, Mrs. Thropp?"

"Anything. Everything. When did you get them? What do they mean? Can they ever be removed? _Why_ do you have them? Why does _she_ have them? Why the color green?"


	29. Chapter 29

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The young translator sighed. Though he had been stolen by the Yunamata- _technically_ , taken in a raid by the Scrow, and then stolen from the Scrow by the Yunamata and traded to the Arjiki- when he was a mere boy of six, he didn't fault any of the tribes for what they'd done. His family had, like hers, crossed through the Thousand Year Grasslands back in late summer of eighteen-hundred-forty-three, meaning he was only seven short years older than her, and he'd been stolen much like she had- in broad daylight, along with his three-year-old sister.

The Scrow had treated them like they treated all outsiders, before they were stolen by the Yunamata. The Yunamata had treated them kindly, cared for them, but not to the extent the Arjiki did when they'd bargained for the white children. A few short weeks after arriving at the Arjiki camp, his sister had died of sickness, but he had survived. Adopted by the medicine woman, he had thrived in the tribe under her tender care, until the age of thirteen, when he was, like Elphaba, stolen in a raid by the white man and returned to 'civilized' society.

"I was stolen in a raid by the Scrow when I was six-years-old. My little sister, ShenShen, was also taken. She was three. We were then stolen by the Yunamata, not long after; they treated us good, but weeks later, we were bargained for and given to the Arjiki." Melena swallowed. "My sister died of sickness not long after we arrived at the camp, but I survived. I was adopted by the medicine woman, Sarima."

"Did... did you have a name?" Melena asked, and he nodded, knowing she was asking of his white name; his birth name. He swallowed thickly.

"Crope. Crope Tenmeadows of Gillikin."

She nodded; he seemed hesitant to speak it, as though it would call forth the devil. "You're not much older than my daughter." She whispered as the realization struck her. He smiled softly.

"We are six years apart, your daughter and I." He sipped his coffee. "Sarima named me; 'Gift from the Great Mother', for she had lost her own child to stillbirth, three years before. She saw my arrival as the Great Mother answering her prayers." Tears filled Melena's eyes; that a woman could suffer such a loss- how could she not see a captive child as an answer to a prayer, when she had suffered so already? "I resisted, as all captives do at first. But over time, I learned that they were not going to harm me, and that no matter what I did, they would still treat me with respect, and love and compassion, even though there were times I know I did not deserve it."

She reached up, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. Over his shoulder, she could see Frex, Nessa and Shell in the doorway, listening. Neither said a word, so enraptured were they. "How long were you with them?"

He sighed. "Until I turned thirteen moons. In the spring of eighteen-hundred-fifty, a white party came to the village. They had heard stories of a white child living among the tribe, and came to take them back to society. The Arjiki did not give me up. They kept silent, kept me safe from the white man. Two days later, a pair of officers showed up; they searched every tent, before they found me and dragged me from Sarima's arms. I fought back; I was learning to hunt, to fight, to be a warrior among the tribesmen, but I was a boy, which meant no match for the white men. In moments, the life I'd lived for seven years, the woman I'd called 'Mother', who had raised me as her own, was gone. I was brought back to the white society and forced to re-assimilate. I fought it every step of the way. I wished for nothing more than to be back with my tribe. But the years passed, and I knew, by the time I turned twenty moons, that I could never return. I did not know the way back on my own, nor did I know if the tribe was still around, if Sarima was still alive," He swallowed thickly, meeting Melena's gaze. "so I made the best decision I could. I became a translator; it's a way for me to walk between the worlds, to help others like Elphaba find that balance, to hold onto some part of the live I lived for those seven years."

His gaze moved to the window. "So when I heard that you were still searching for your daughter, I knew I had to help. And when I'd heard that there was another white living among the Arjiki; I took it as my opportunity to return. None of them recognized me. Those I had known growing up did not know me any longer. Some had passed from this world to the next. Sarima, when I saw her... I knew she would not know who I was. I simply asked my questions, but they did with her as they did with me, all those years ago; they protected her."

"You're twenty-six." Tibbett turned to Frex, nodding.

"I am. By the time your daughter was stolen, I had lived six years away from my tribe. She was the age I was when I was stolen from the Arjiki by the whites."

" _Stolen?_ You really view returning to society as being stolen?" Nessa asked, arms crossed over her chest. Tibbett turned to her.

"I do. Because I lived a peaceful life with them. They gave me a home, as they gave your sister a home. I loved them, they were my tribe. They _still are_ my tribe, no matter how many years pass, or how long I live away from them. In some ways, Elphaba and I are mirror images of each other."

"And the tattoos?" Melena asked, tears coursing down her cheeks. Tibbett chuckled softly.

"Once a person has been accepted into the tribe, they are given green tattoos. 'The Time of New Beginnings,' they call it, for it means the tribe will grow and prosper with the acceptance of a new person. Because I was adopted by the medicine woman, my tattoos were to be upon my face, signifying my status as her son. I was not quite royalty, like your daughter, but I was considered the next in line to become shaman, upon Sarima's death, for she was to take the shaman's place upon his passing."

"So the diamonds... they're about status?" Nessa asked, taking a seat beside her mother. Tibbett nodded.

"The Arjiki are the only tribe to tattoo themselves. The more diamonds, the higher your status." He licked his lips. "Normally. Because I was son of the next shaman, it wasn't necessarily the _number_ of diamonds, but _where_ they were. The shamans, the medicine men and women, are the only ones of the Arjiki to have their faces tattooed. They believe the diamonds are a way to commune with other words, a third eye, if you will. The royalty have their diamonds either on their chest or back; I remember the young Crown Prince, Fiyero." A small smile tugged at his features. "He was a mere child of eight moons when I was taken away. But he was the most curious child; it does not surprise me that your daughter was chosen to be married to him."

The others in the family shared a look, before Nessa spoke up. "So... she... she really is a... a princess?"

"The Crown Princess of the Arjiki. Upon Avaric's passing from this world into the next, Fiyero shall become the Chief, and she his Chieftess; in white society, they would be a king and queen." He glanced back to the window. "You _must_ understand. She has a home with the Arjiki, a husband, children. A life. Just like I did. I understand that you want desperately for her to stay, but have any of you even stopped to consider that her life is no longer here? Once you become Arjiki, there is no going back. Arjiki you have become, and no matter how many years that pass, or where you go- be it with the tribe, or away from it- Arjiki you will remain."


	30. Chapter 30

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The sun was starting to set below the horizon, and still, she had not come in.

She had crumpled to the ground, sobs shaking her small body as she wrapped her arms around herself, begging the Unnamed God to release her from this torment and allow her to return to her family. Would she never see her husband again? Never feel his strong arms around her, taste his kiss, hear his voice? And her children... would they grow up with only distant memories of her, of the girl who had brought them into this world and then disappeared, stolen back to a society they knew nothing of? If she ever did manage to return, would they remember her, or would she be a complete stranger?

Melena watched from the window, tears in her own eyes. She wanted her daughter home, but not at the risk of Sophelia's heartbreak, her pain, her sanity. She wanted the little girl she had given birth to, the child she had raised for thirteen years, who had enchanted everyone with her singing and her smile, who had let her curious nature take hold even in the worst of times; the child who, when they had left Fliaan, had declared they would be going a grand adventure, and that she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

And somehow, that grand adventure her daughter had been so excited for, had turned into a nightmare.

For days after the raid- even when they finally reached Munch Territory- Melena had woken up at night with her daughter's screams echoing in her head. The fact that her oldest child had been stolen in broad daylight, and that they had done nothing to stop it, gnawed at the mother of three for the last seven years. She had failed her daughter, left her to the savages, a flower, ripe for the plucking. Even now, Melena would not forgive herself- _could not_ \- no matter how many times she was told that it wasn't her fault.

 _"She's the Crown Princess of the Arjiki. Once you become Arjiki... Arjiki you will remain."_

Tibbett's words rang loud and clear in her head, and the tears trailing her cheeks fell harder. Strong arms slowly wrapped around her from behind, and she soon felt Frex's comforting presence about her. "Shh, hush, Melena. It'll be okay. We'll get her back. She'll return to us. By the end of the week, she'll be our Sophelia again."

His wife shook her head. "You're wrong, Frex." She choked out. "She won't be. She doesn't belong to us anymore... maybe she never did. Maybe she always belonged to them." He kissed her temple in attempt to calm her. "Sophelia is... is dead. That girl... that is _not_ my baby, that is _not my daughter_. My daughter is _gone_."

"Melena, don't think that way-"

She pulled way, turning to him. "Why not, Frex? It's true, isn't it? Tibbett all but told us-"

"Forgive me, but I doubt Tibbett knows-"

" _Don't you dare finish that sentence!_ You know that Tibbett knows exactly what he's talking about! He's like her- _exactly_ like her! He was a captive once too; he's lived among them, maybe not long enough to marry and have a family like she has, but he was there long enough to be considered the successor for the medicine woman! He knows the tribe! He knows how they work, how they operate! He said it himself; they're a peaceful people, they gave him a home, like they did for her!" She turned back to the window. "And he was stolen from it, just like she was."

Her husband sighed, turning his gaze to the window, where their daughter was on her knees, arms tight around herself, sobbing. He didn't know what to say to his wife to convince her that their daughter's return was a good thing. That she would stay, that she wouldn't return to the Arjiki. But Melena- who had lived the last seven years with the guilt and heartache of losing her child- refused to be swayed. She had taken Tibbett's words to heart, realizing that their daughter did not belong to them anymore, and probably never would again.

Two hours later, she slipped back into the house, being careful not to wake the other occupants. On soft feet, she crept through the kitchen and living area, up the stairs and into her room. After several minutes of trying to figure out how to get out of the dress, she'd tossed it and the undergarments into a heap in the far corner of the room, and then pulled the nightgown from its place balled up beneath the bed. After studying it momentarily, she tossed it back beneath the bed and took a seat upon the edge; she would rather sleep bare than in that stifling gown again.

Taking deep breaths, she sat still, forcing herself to remain calm. She had begged the gods to return her to her family, pleaded with them until she was hoarse, to no avail. She slid a hand along her belly, feeling the soft curves of flesh that had not fully smoothed and tightened after birth, left from her pregnancies, the reminders that she had carried and birthed three beautiful children. She choked on a sob, reaching up to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. Would these soft curves, the slightly off-colored marks on the insides of her thighs, on her belly, be the only things she had left of her children, if she was not returned to her tribe?

She wrapped her arms around her belly, curling in on herself, sobbing quietly. _"Lasciami andare a casa, si prega. Voglio andare a casa, alla mia tribù. Si prega!"_

But there was no response to her pleas. After several minutes, she curled up on the bed, letting her soft sobs take control, unaware that on the other side of the locked bedroom door, Melena crumpled to the ground, tears racing down her own cheeks. She knew not a word of her daughter's plea, but knew and understood the tone- for it had been the same tone she'd used when she'd begged for her daughter to be sent home. Choking on her own soft sobs, Melena buried her face in her hands, her own heartbreak mirroring her daughter's.


	31. Chapter 31

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Thropp Household,_

 _Day Two_

The soft whistle of the wind as it blew through the wheat field was doing all it could to lull her to sleep as she sat on the porch step, the family bible in her lap. Over the last seven years, she had turned to the words within the worn covers, seeking comfort, in the hopes that they would give her some insight into where her sister had disappeared too that long ago day in the Thousand Year Grasslands.

But no matter how many times she flipped through the pages, no matter how many verses or parables she read, she could make neither heads nor tails of the mystery. So she had taken instead to writing down the family tree on the inside front cover, in order to pass the time. The bible had been her great-great-great-great-grandmother's, and every birth and death had been kept within its pages. The names of Thropp family members danced along the margins and covers; Partra, Fenvu, Peerless, Impecata... name after name after name, some dying old, some young. But all members of the adventurous, independent Thropp clan.

Nervously, she twirled the quill pen between her fingers, the tips become stained black. Teeth slid out to grasp her lower lip, and she lifted her head briefly, braids shifting along her back. Her sister was out among the fields, wandering barefoot, head uncovered and long black hair down around her shoulders. She'd been forced into another dress that morning, though there had been less of a fight than the day before. Maybe she was finally starting to come around.

One could hope.

Sighing, she turned back to the bible. Open to the cover, she let her gaze wander down the list of names before they rested upon her and her siblings. A part of her wanted to jot down a name beside Sophelia's-

 _Fiyero_

The name drifted within her head like a ship out to sea, beckoning her to approach. It was the name she'd heard her sister cry out in her sleep early this morning, before the dawn broke over the horizon, casting the world in her soft white light. Unable to sleep, she'd gotten up and gone downstairs for a drink of water. It was on the way back that she'd stopped by her sister's room, pressed her ear to the door, and been surprised to hear sobbing coming from within. She'd reached for the doorknob, but stopped, upon hearing a name escape her sister's lips.

 _Fiyero_

It had wrenched at her heart, and she'd frozen. Though she hadn't understood what was said after, she knew the tone, the heartbreak, the pain. It was what she had felt when her sister had been taken those seven years prior, on the nights when nightmares would wake her, her sister's screams echoing in her head.

She looked back up, the wind picked up slightly, lifting the strands of her sister's hair from her shoulders. The older girl wandered aimlessly among the wheat, fingers trailing over stocks as she went, feet soft in the dirt, gaze directed to the ground, as though lost in thought. But she had an inkling of what was really going on in that mind- pain, heartache, fear. And the replaying of her capture over and over again. Nessa knew it all too well. For though she hadn't been the one captured, she'd _watched_ in horror as her sister had been snatched from them that day-

 _"No! Elia! Come back! Don't leave me! Elia!"_

She'd scrambled out from under the wagon as soon as it looked clear, despite Mama and Shell's attempts to hold her back, and rushed after the raid party, but to no avail. By the time she'd reached the outskirts of the carnage that was the wagon train, they were gone, taking her beloved older sister with them.

Her gaze darted back to the bible in her lap, and she lowered the pen. If she chose to, four names would need to be added.

 _Fiyero. Irji. Nor. Manek._

She'd heard her sister cry out for the last three not long after crying out for Fiyero, but hadn't been able to put the pieces together. So that morning, she'd asked Tibbett who they were, and he'd informed her that Irji, Nor and Manek were her sister's children.

 _Children._

Her sister had had children. Her sister had given birth, three times in the last seven years. She had allowed a savage to lay with her, to take her virtue and purity, and in return, become impregnated with his children. Her belly had expanded with each growing child, until her small, petite body had decided it was time for each to enter the world.

Biting harder on her lip, she shut the book and stood, going back into the house and hurrying upstairs to her room. Once the door was shut behind her, she set the book on the nightstand and then took a seat on the bed. Her hands moved to caress her midsection, and she closed her eyes, releasing a slow breath.

When had her pains started? How long had they lasted? How many hours had she endured before each child came into the world? Had it been terribly bloody? And once born, had she held each immediately? And how had she reacted?

 _How any mother probably reacts, with love._

She curled up on the bed, this revelation near stalling her heart. Love? Could her sister really love the savage children she bore? That would mean-

 _No._

She sniffled, tears coming to her eyes as she realized what she'd been trying so hard to deny since her sister had been found and returned to them.

 _A child is made from love, and only love,_ as Mama was fond of saying.

Fresh tears slid down her cheeks as the realization hit.

Three children.

Despite the two worlds their parents came from, they were created from the same thing she and her siblings were made from- _love._

She buried her face in her pillow as she suddenly understood that her sister's captivity had been anything but. That the children Tibbett had told her of were not just the half-breed children of a savage and a white, but children made very, very much, from love.


	32. Chapter 32

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **So counting today (Day Two)** **Elphaba still has six days left with the Thropps, and it seems that Melena appears to be buckling under** **the weight of her own guilt...** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _"Mama! Mama! Torna qui! Mama!"_

He bolted upright, screams pulling him from his fitful sleep. Fleeing moments passed, as he tried to get his bearings, before he remembered that his wife was gone, forced back into the white's world, and that his father was insisting they bide their time-

 _"Torna qui! Mama!"_

In seconds, he was out of bed, hurrying to the other side of the tent. Nor lay in her blankets, struggling and crying out for her mother, caught in the midst of a nightmare. Without a word, Fiyero scooped the three-year-old princess out of her bed, holding her against his shoulder, humming softly as his wife used to do to calm the children during a nightmare. As he rocked her, he caught sight of Irji curled up in his own blankets, with Manek beside him, blue eyes wide with unshed tears that slowly slid down his cheeks. It was evident, that though the boy was not suffering from nightmares like his sister, he was still suffering the loss of his mother in his own way. Eventually, the child's screams died down to sobs, and she clung to her father.

In the flickering of the low firelight, he saw Irji sitting amid his own blankets, holding Manek close. After calming Nor down, he laid the child back among her blankets and turned to his sons. Once all three were settled down again, he slipped out of the tent. The village was quiet, most of the occupants were sound asleep, with the exception of, besides him, one.

Sarima sat by the bonfire, wrapped in a blanket, lost in the crackling flames.

 _"Afflitto da incubi di nuovo?"_

Fiyero nodded as he joined her. _"Si. Ogni notte, dal momento che la loro madre è stata presa."_ He glanced at the medicine woman. How could his father just sit back, while his daughter-in-law was forced to live among the whites? Why were they not-

 _"Non dobbiamo correre."_

He turned to her. Not rush? His wife was gone! Stolen from her family and her tribe in broad daylight! Ripped from her children, and forced to return to a life she knew nothing of-

 _"Di corsa porterà solo dolore a noi e la sua."_ It was now that Sarima turned to him. _"Parlo per esperienza."_

Something danced in Sarima's gaze and he furrowed a brow. Experience? From what Fiyero knew, Sarima had no children. She had turned to looking on Elphaba as a daughter-

 _"Non capisco."_

The older woman chuckled softly, the blue diamonds upon her cheeks crinkling slightly with the movement. How did she explain to this young man that he had been a mere boy when her child had been taken from her? A soft sigh escaped her throat and she reached out to pat his hand. _"Non ti ricorderai, perché eri solo un bambino. Ma c'era un altro bianco, un ragazzo, che è venuto al campo prima di tua moglie. Rubato dalla Scrow proprio come lei, e poi dalla Yunamata. Quando arrivò al nostro accampamento, l'ho portato dentro, perché avevo perso la mia bambina durante le lunghe ore di nascita tre anni prima. Doveva essere il mio erede, che sarebbe diventato sciano dopo la mia scomparsa nel mondo successivo."_

Fiyero furrowed a brow. Another? There had been _another_ white among the tribe? It wasn't possible. He would certainly have remembered if there was another white living among the tribe. _"Cosa gli è successo?"_

When she turned to him this time, Fiyero saw the tears coursing down her cheeks. She sniffled, and took his hand. How did she explain the day the whites had come and stolen her world? How did she even _begin_ to _consider_ explaining the moment her son had been ripped from her arms? The fear she had felt as they'd yanked the boy away, as they'd placed him onto a horse and rode off with him- as she'd rushed from the tent and hurried after them, only to find it was too late and they were gone?

She took a deep breath. _"Rubato, in un raid molto simile a quello in cui è stata presa tua moglie."_

Her eyes closed, and she was transported back to that day. _"Strappato dalle mie braccia quando era solo tredici lune."_

She could still remember that day; could still hear his screams as he was yanked from her embrace, as he was dragged through the camp and put onto a horse, as they faded into the distance as he was taken from them, from _her_...

 _"Madre! Madre!"_

She choked on a sob. Even now, his screams for her were still loud in her ears; they still broke her heart. She had since gone years without her son, not knowing if he had somehow managed to survive in the white's world, or if he had passed onto the next. She thought of him every day, prayed to the Great Mother that she would be allowed to see him again, but each day, her prayers went unanswered.

 _"Non mi ricordo di lui. Non sapevo che avessi un figlio."_ Fiyero's whisper was soft, and she sniffled.

 _"Tu eri solo otto lune quando è stato rubato dalla nostra tribù. Non ti ricorderai di lui."_

 _"Papa?"_ Several minutes passed, before Fiyero turned; Irji stood in the entrance to the tent, grasping the flap tightly in his small hands. Even from his place at Sarima's side, Fiyero could see the tears in his son's eyes, and after a moment, he stood, making his way towards the boy. Irji rushed to him, and he knelt down, scooping the child into his arms. Pressing a kiss to his head, he turned back to the older woman.

"Sarima?" She watched father and son, a twinge of sadness tugging at her heart. As Fiyero settled his firstborn upon his hip. The little boy, who, upon his father's ascension to Chief, was the next Crown Prince, curled against his father, tears slipping down his cheeks. His father pressed a firm kiss to his head. _"Qual era il nome di tuo figlio?"_

She sniffled, choking as the name of her long-lost son escaped her lips. "Tibbett. _Il suo nome era Tibbett_."


	33. Chapter 33

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The soft rays of sunlight brushed against her eyelids; the gentlest of kisses, alerting her to her second day with the Thropps. Slowly, her eyes opened, and once they adjusted to the light, she let her gaze wander before she slammed them shut again. Maybe, if she kept them closed, she would wake up in their tent, in Fiyero's arms, and this would have all be a horrible, terrifying nightmare.

But when she opened her eyes for the second time that day, she was sorely mistaken.

She lifted her head when a soft knock sounded on the door, and after a couple of moments, she climbed out of the bed, hurrying to unlock the door. Instead of the younger girl, Mrs. Thropp stood on the other side; a look of shock crossed the older woman's face, before a soft blush tinted her cheeks. She said not a word to the teenager, didn't ask at all why she was nude, just slipped inside and made her way to the dresser. However, she stopped, upon seeing the dress and undergarments crumpled in the corner. A simple sigh escaped her throat, and she set to work, pulling out another pair and another dress.

 _I'll make sure those are washed and pressed so they're clean for her tomorrow._

She then turned to face her daughter, who stood regarding her with a look of suspicion. Melena silently let her gaze wander over the teenager's body, noting the subtle differences to her body that had taken place in the last seven years and comparing them to the girl she remembered. Her child, her beloved little girl, had not possessed a single curve before that day- none that were visible, that is. Sophelia had gotten her cycle a year prior, and the changes to her body were slow and subtle. Her breasts had started to develop, small buds upon her chest, like most girls her age. Her moods had also begun to change, and her body had slowly started gaining soft curves.

But the young woman before her, no longer the tender age of thirteen, but nineteen, did not look like a girl struggling to fit into a woman's growing body. This girl seemed to embrace the body she had grown into; it had felt the touch and caress of a man, taken the firmness of that same man into the softest part of her and wrapped around him, becoming one with him, even as he released the seeds of himself into her. This body she had grown into had accepted his seed willingly, had adjusted as that very seed burrowed deep within the egg that resided in her womb and proceeded to form and grow, it had carried and borne three children- Melena's own grandchildren, whom she never knew existed, until now. _My darling, my baby girl, what cruel god decided to steal you from me and give you to the savages? What did I do wrong? I know I was not a good enough mother; I tried so hard to be. And you were my pride and joy... and to have lost you... only to have you returned to me... I have lost you all over again. You_ look _like the babe I bore all those years ago, but you aren't. You are not my baby girl, not the one I remember. Oh, Sophelia, my baby, will you never return to me?_

Tears filled her gaze, slipped down her cheeks, and after she looked up at the soft brush of a finger against her skin. On soft feet, Elphaba had made her way towards the older woman, recognizing the pain in her gaze; it mirrored the pain she herself felt. Gently, she captured the tears that trailed down the older woman's skin, their gazes meeting. She cooed softly, like she often did to her children to calm them when they began to cry, and Melena turned her head, choking on a sob.

She pulled away from the girl, dropping the clothing and moving to take a seat upon the hope chest at the end of the bed, covering her mouth with one hand and burying her other in her skirt, over her womb, attempting to stifle her sobs. No matter how she _looked_ like Sophelia, the girl before her _wasn't_ Sophelia, no matter the blood in her veins or the features she shared. Not anymore. She was a savage, an Indian, a... a _squaw..._ married to a savage prince, who had borne him three savage babies, who had lain- _willingly_ \- with him, every night, for _seven years_.

 _No, not savage. No matter the people, Sophelia would never turn savage, no matter how long she lived among them, or what they made her do. She's your daughter, you know her-_ She shook her head. _No, you don't. Not really, not anymore. You know the girl she was before she was stolen away, not the girl she is now, and despite your attempts to accept her deal, you have not bothered to look past what you see- the changes in her body, the diamonds upon her back, the language she speaks and the gods she worships- and tried to accept her for what she has become. You have tried to change her, without giving any thought to what she desires. She desires to return to the tribe that raised her, that cared for her, that loved her the seven years she was with them, before the white man ripped her from them, just as the Indians ripped her from you those seven years earlier. You see what you_ wish _to see, not what you_ need _to see._

She thought back to Tibbett, to his story; how he too had lived seven years among the Arjiki, and spoke of their peaceful way of life, their desire to be left alone, and their believe that all things come from the Great Mother; how a woman named Sarima, who had lost her own babe in the process of birth, had taken in a captive young white boy and raised him as her own, loved him as her own, and how he grieved the loss of her and his tribe every day, for these last twenty years or so. Was he really so different to the girl standing before her? To her daughter?

 _No,_ cried the small voice in the back of her mind. _He wasn't. He isn't. He is similar to her in many aspects, except in that he has been forced to return to society, and all but lost that part of himself, all but lost his connection to his tribe. The pain in his eyes is evident. Would you really be willing to make her suffer the same fate?_ _Especially when you know that she never truly belonged to you in the first place?_

She looked up as Elphaba took a seat beside her on the chest, reaching out to brush her fingers against the woman's cheek. Melena met her gaze, slowly lowering the hand from her mouth, as the young princess's lips formed hesitantly and clumsily around one single word,

 _"Hush."_


	34. Chapter 34

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Her eyes widened in shock.

The word was clumsy; it was obvious the girl had no true grasp of the language, but she was trying.

And it was followed by a second word, said just as clumsily, just as hesitantly.

 _"M... Mama."_

But no less poignant or heartbreaking.

Fresh tears filled Melena's eyes, coursing down her cheeks faster than before, and she pulled away from the girl, burying her face in her hands as she doubled over in heartbreaking sobs. Footsteps were soon heard in the hall, and the door swung open quickly. Long hair pulled back in braids that swung against her neck and back as she hurried into the room, Nessa stopped, startled to see her mother in sobs on the hope chest, her sister sitting beside her, as bare as the day she'd been born into the world. "Mama? What's wrong? Mama!"

After several minutes, Melena looked up at her youngest; Shell stood behind his sister, black mop of hair a mess, worry in his eyes as their mother shook her head. Nessa, unable to fully comprehend the scene before her, glanced at her brother, before calling out, _"Papa! Papa!"_

Two more pairs of footsteps were soon heard before Frex and Tibbett appeared behind Shell and Nessa. "Nessarose? What is it, what's wrong?"

But the teenager simply shook her head, turning back to her mother and sister. Elphaba, perhaps ignoring the others, perhaps unaware of their presence, focused only on Melena; she reached up, brushing a thumb against the woman's cheek, once more clumsily choking out, _"H... hu...sh... m... m... Mam...a..."_

"Did... did she just..." Shell choked out, as his sister turned to meet his gaze, shrugging. "E... El... she... she knows our... our language... she spoke, _right_?" The boy's voice cracked, but none of them noticed. Tears sprang to Nessa's eyes, and Tibbett released a soft sigh as Frex gently rested a hand on his son's shoulder.

"I don't know, Shell." Frex whispered softly, even as Tibbett spoke, gaze never leaving Elphaba or Melena.

"She recognizes the pain in your wife's eyes, in her heart, Mr. Thropp. She recognizes it, because it is the same pain she bears, now being apart from her children and husband."

"This... this is good, right?" Shell asked, turning to the interpreter. "This... this means she'll... she'll come back to us? Elia will come back now that she can speak our language, won't she? She'll no longer be a savage."

Tibbett's gaze darkened for the briefest of moments. "What you call savage, we call peaceful. Your people are more savage than the Arjiki will ever consider becoming. Just because she has spoken your language does not mean she will become white again. Arjiki is in her very soul. It will not be killed that easily." The boy swallowed thickly, turning back to his mother and older sister.

Nessa meanwhile, watched in silence, as her mother allowed her older sister to gently brush the tears away. Had it truly been Mama's pain, her breaking heart, that had brought about Elphaba's clumsily spoken first words? Was what Tibbett said true, that she recognized the pain in Mama's heart because it mirrored the pain in her own- that of having been torn from her children? Or was it something else? Was she slowly starting to remember her life before her abduction, before she became a... a savage princess, before she bore savage children?

 _No, not savage. Love. A child is not savage, no matter what seed it comes from or what egg resides within its mother's womb. A child is only made from love, only and always love. She is in love..._ Tears slid down Nessa's cheeks as she hurriedly fled from the room, down the stairs and out of the house, into the wheat fields, her realization from earlier coming back to her full force now. _Elia is in love, with a savage prince, an Indian. And her children... they were made from love. She lay with that Indian out of love, not force. She was not forced, she did so willingly. She lay and let him take her with love, and he... he..._

She stumbled, skidding on her hands and knees among the wheat, before wrapping her arms around herself. An ache pulsed within her, a desire to be touched and loved as her sister had, to lay with a man like her sister had, and feel... feel _what_ , exactly? Desire? Completion? Absolute ecstasy? To feel a man firm and thick within her most secret of places, as her sister had, with the man she called her husband?

 _You're seventeen, what do you know or understand of desires of the flesh? Of the secret moments between a man and woman? Those that are stolen in the night, beneath heated glances and frantic touches? Nothing. You know nothing of such things, and yet, you desire them as much as your sister did! You're a child, as innocent and pure as the winter snows, and yet you desire to experience what she experienced- the tantalizing brushes of a man's firmness between your thighs, of his mouth on your skin, his hands in your hair, the weight of him covering you as it once covered her, the thickness of him inside your most forbidden of places- is that what you desire? To be taken by a savage, like your sister was? To... to make love... with a savage who knows not what love is?_

She shook head, covering her ears with her hands, as thought it would block out the voice in her head. _"No!"_

 _Yes! Yes, I desire it! I do! I want to experience what she did! I want to lay with a savage like she did! Be desired like she was! I want it, so very, very much-_

But the part of her that had been raised in the faith, the part of her that had sat in the small church in Nest Hardings for the last seven years and listened to Pastor Yackle preach against the sins of fornication and desire, roared louder than the small, traitorous voice in her heart. _You lie! You bear the sin of false witness, before the Unnamed God Himself! Do you truly believe you will allowed entrance into the world after for such traitorous, vile thoughts? You are a mere child, who knows nothing of the ways of the world, or the sins your sister has wallowed in by laying with a dirty, disgusting savage! The bastard savages she has born, created from her deepest sins-_

 _"No! A child is made from love! Not sin! Love!"_

 _And you wish to follow in her footsteps! To lay with a savage and bear his children! You vile, filthy little girl! No respectable man would take you for a wife if he knew of the sins you wish to commit-_

A gentle hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up, to see Tibbett kneeling beside her. It was evident to him, the turmoil swirling in the young girl's heart and mind was more than just because of her sister's return. It ran much, much deeper than perhaps she herself even knew.

"T... Tibbett." She grabbed his wrist, her grip tightening with every frantic breath.

Or, perhaps she _did_ know.

"Something eats at your heart and mind, your very soul, young Nessarose. The Great Mother herself can sense it in you."

He moved to stand and help her too her feet, but she tugged on his wrist, forcing him to return to kneeling beside her. "Please. Tell me."

"What do you wish to hear?"

She took a breath, tongue darting out to wet her lips as her heart continued to pound and her thoughts warred within her mind. "How do I find the Arjiki?"


	35. Chapter 35

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

He stared at her, mouth agape, for it was the only thing he _could_ do.

The frantic look in the young girl's eyes worried him. A warning of fever? Would delirium soon follow? Would sickness soon spread throughout the house, claiming every member of the family, including the Arjiki's princess?

"Miss Nessarose-"

" _Please_ , Tibbett, how do I find them? The... Arjiki? My... my sister's tribe... _your_ tribe... how do I find them?" She was frantic, near tears now, and he slowly shook his head.

"I don't know. I have spent many moons separated from our tribe-"

"But you were _there_ , weren't you? You said so yourself, the day you went with the scouts... could... could they find the tribe? If you went with them?"

"Forgive me, Miss Nessarose, but I trust not the white who goes off willingly in search of the tribe I long to return to. The white man spreads disease, he carries it on the air he breathes; he brings death in the guns he carries, and the promises he makes. I will not see my tribe fall as others have for the white man's lies, no matter the desperate pleas of a little girl." He stood, yanking his wrist out of her grasp, and moved to return to the house. Nessa climbed to her feet, desperation filling her heart, for herself, or her sister, or Tibbett, or perhaps all three of them, she didn't know.

 _"Then take me!"_ He stopped, stunned by her words. "Take me as my sister was taken! Show me the desires only a man and woman know of! You were born of a white woman, but raised Arjiki. You are more of her world than mine, no matter the... the number of... moons you have spent away from them!"

He turned back to face her, the diamonds upon his face seeming to glimmer in the sunlight. There was no conceivable way this young girl... no, this... this teenager... was- He shook his head. No. She wasn't. She couldn't be. She was a child, no older than seventeen.

But the look in her eyes, the wild, feverish, spark, told him that she was, indeed, asking, and that she knew, on some level, of what she was asking for. He moved closer, carefully, the hunter he had been training to be coming out in him as he made his way towards her, this wild, beautiful animal, suffering from her own, silent kind of captivity. A captivity her sister had been lucky enough to escape.

" _Please! Take me! I desire the sins of the flesh, to taste what she tasted, to feel as she felt... I desire to know all the secret moments shared between a man and woman! I want to be loved as she was- is- by her husband-"_

He took her gently by the shoulders, shaking her tenderly. "Then you must _wait_ until you _yourself_ are to be married to feel such desires, _you cannot just_ -"

" _I don't want to, Tibbett!_ _I wish to feel them now!_ _By the time I am old enough for such a thing as marriage, I shall be a spinster!_ " She shook her head, turning her gaze away as fresh tears came to her eyes. "After Elia was stolen away, I promised myself that I would never marry. So that way, no matter how many years she was away, when she finally returned to us, I would be there. I would be home, when she returned home, no matter how many years fell in between. So that it would be familiar for her, something she remembered- us, the three of us, Shell and her and I, together, regardless of whether Mama and Papa had passed into the other world by then. At least, if Shell and I were still home, _that_ part would still be familiar to her."

She met his gaze, the tears sliding rapidly down her cheeks. Suddenly, she seemed so much older, as though she were carrying the weight of the world upon her small, slender shoulders. _Because she is. Her family's world._

"You're a _child_ , Miss Nessarose. Children do not understand adult matters, adult desires-"

"I'm not a child, Tibbett. I am _seventeen_. I'm a grown woman, just like Elphaba is. Don't I have a right to discover the same desires she did? Just because I am not married and have not birthed children as she has, doesn't meant that I don't deserve or desire to feel the same things she has felt. I may be younger than her by two years, but I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not the child left behind when she was stolen from us. I'm a woman. I feel desires similar to ones she feels." She reached up, taking his hands in hers. She glanced down, watching as their fingers slid into place slowly, lacing together perfectly. "In the seven years she was gone, Elphaba is not the only one to grow up."

She rose onto her toes, mouth inches from his. He pulled away, but she didn't move; instead she held his gaze, fresh tears glistening her eyes. "I grew up, too."

He pulled away from her, breaking the contact. He knew that in the white man's society, it was not uncommon for a young girl to marry once she reached seventeen or eighteen, and often, to a man many, many moons older than her. Often, they were married to men in their forties or fifties, men who had never taken a wife, or had lost a wife to the other world, and were desperate for one who could bear as many children as possible. He knew that often in the white man's society, a marriage was less about love and more about procreation and property- something the Arjiki did not see the value in. In the tribe, a marriage was sacred, as was the creation and birth of a child; they were precious things, things believed to bring good fortune. A match was often made between a man and woman because the Great Mother insisted, and her insistence was made clear through the shaman-

Tears misted his eyes, as his thoughts returned to Sarima, to the only mother he knew of, the only woman who truly looked upon him as her own. _Oh, Madre, how I miss you so. Do you ever think of me?_

"Oh, Tibbett, please, don't cry." He looked up at the feel of Nessarose's fingers brushing against his cheek, catching the tears as they slid down his skin. Softly, in a voice choked with tears, he whispered,

"You know not of what you ask for, Nessarose."

Gently, she reached down, taking his hands into hers, meeting his gaze, her voice soft, yet firm in her reasoning. "But I do."


	36. Chapter 36

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018. Um... okay, Zanie, honey, where are you going with this?- Licia**

 _Tibbett. Sarima had once adopted a white. And he, like Fabala, had been stolen from the tribe._

In the early hours before Dawn appeared above the horizon, he awoke to a familiar weight upon his chest. But when he opened his eyes, he found that the familiar sensation of her body curled up against his was nothing more than a memory, a desire, reaching from the deepest workings of his mind to taunt him in these earliest of hours.

Pushing himself onto his elbow, he quickly checked to make sure the children were still asleep before laying back down. It had taken him an hour to get Irji and Manek to sleep; unlike Nor, who had returned to sleep, both boys refused to until they knew when their mother would come home, and it took all he had _not_ to lie to them, for he believed the boys needed to know the truth. Manek had burst into tears, and cried for his mother, and Fiyero had cradled the little boy to his chest, singing softly to him, as Elphaba would. Eventually, the familiar lullaby not only calmed him but put the child to sleep, and he tucked his sons back into bed, before returning to his own.

Now though, he lay in bed with memories of his wife strong in his mind. Though it had only been... three? four? days since she had been gone, it felt as though an eternity had passed. The days blended into one another, and it was all Fiyero could do to keep from going after her himself. He couldn't just go in search of her; their children needed him, for he was all they had at the moment.

 _"Amare i bambini,"_ as Elphaba often called them, for they certainly had been made from love, each of them. And they were the last remnants of her, the last living pieces of his beloved wife; Nor grew to look more and more like her mother every day. She would become a great beauty upon reaching womanhood, and Fiyero dreaded the day the first young warrior came to ask for the little princess's hand in marriage. He found himself praying to the Great Mother that Elphaba would be there to keep him from banishing the young man.

A soft sob worked its way up his throat; he ached for her, for her touch, her voice, her very scent. But what he longed for most were her eyes. Such enchanting dark eyes had transfixed him from the very beginning, not long after she'd been brought to the tribe, back when he'd been a mere boy of fourteen, and she a girl no older than thirteen. It was those dark orbs, so full of fire and resolve, that had captured his father's attention, even more so than her wild, stubborn spirit, and those same dark eyes had captured him and even now, seven years later, refused to let him go.

He dreamt of her eyes, of the fear in them when she was captured that day, of the pain in them when he'd called her and she'd walked briefly between the worlds with him, of the awe that had filled them moments after the births of each of their children, as the babes had each slid out of her body and into the world, of the surprise that had shone in them the night he'd kissed her for the first time, not long after their wedding had taken place, before they had consummated their marriage; they watched him, called to him, waiting for him to steal her away, back to her family, her tribe.

 _"Fabala, amore... Vengo per te e presto ti prometto."_ He sighed. _I will not let you bear another day in the white's world, my wife. I will make sure you return to me, to our children, our tribe, alive and healthy and whole. For I will not become Chief without you by my side. Because until you are returned to us, our family and our tribe will never be whole._

"Papa?" He looked up; Nor had awoken and crawled across the tent towards her parents' bedroll. She sat back on her knees, fresh tears in her eyes, and after a moment, Fiyero opened his arms, allowing the child to curl into him. As he tucked the blanket about him and his only daughter, his little princess, she curled into his chest, tucking herself against the sturdiest part of him, just as her mother would do. The familiar sensation- however light, due to her size- brought tears to his eyes, and he pressed a firm kiss to her head. Eventually, the softness of his daughter's breathing lulled him back to sleep.

When he awoke hours later, it was to Irji and Manek slipping beneath the blankets beside their sister, and after a moment, Fiyero adjusted his hold on Nor, making room for his sons. With all three children soon sound asleep against his chest, he let his thoughts drift back to his beloved wife. It was not uncommon for them to awaken in the middle of the night to the children slipping into bed with them, frightened because of a nightmare or unable to sleep due to a storm. In those moments, Elphaba took to curling around whichever child happened to be curled against her breasts, holding them so that they could hear her heart, and only her heart, and wouldn't focus on the storm or dream that frightened them so. And if the beat of her heart did not soothe their fears, her gentle voice would.

In the seven years she'd been with the tribe, she had gone from a frightened, desperate girl of thirteen moons to a confident, headstrong, woman of nineteen moons.

 _Nearly twenty._

He pressed firm kisses to each head of black hair, holding them closer.

She seemed so much more grown up now than she had back when she'd first arrived, though he guessed that marriage, pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood would do that to a girl. She was strong, so very, very strong. She had survived seven years with her tribe, thanks to the love, respect and happiness they gave her and she gave in return. Could she, possibly, do the same within the white man's world? As he held tight to their children, he prayed to the Great Mother that she would, just for a little bit longer.


	37. Chapter 37

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

A flurry of chaos, was the only way Shell could describe the rest of the day after his oldest sister had spoken in their language. His mother had burst into tears, claiming it was a miracle, that her beloved older daughter had finally returned to them; Nessa had fled to- well, he wasn't sure where Nessa had gone, but the translator had chased after her. And his father had stayed behind, stunned at the turn of events. The day had passed quickly, a blur of emotion and color and sound, fading into evening and then into night. And Shell had watched it all in silence, the quiet witness.

 _"You believe her to be nineteen, however, Elphaba is actually twenty moons. Soon to be twenty-one moons."_

Shell held his breath; he sat on the stairs, hidden in the shadows, listening to the adults converse; no, argue was more like it, for Mama kept insisting that Elia was younger than she actually was. According to the translator, Elia was a whole year older than Mama was insisting, and would turn another year older very soon. Silence settled briefly, before his mother spoke again, her voice shaking. _"That can't be right. She was a mere girl when... when..."_

Shell didn't blame Mama for not wanting to believe what the translator was saying. He clearly knew Elia better than her own family did, especially since she had been away for so long, and the years... well, the years did tend to blur into a continuous swirl of colors and smells, sound and seasons. It made more sense to Shell, that Elia would be older than Mama thought; he'd been a mere child of eight when she had been taken in broad daylight, and would soon turn sixteen, and Nessa, eighteen, for there were three, nearly four, years between the sisters.

" _Why do you refuse to see your daughter as something besides what she is? As a child? She is no more a child than your other daughter is! She is a grown woman, who has embraced the life she was given. She has birthed children, and you think, that her learning your language will mean that she has returned to you? That she has forgotten the ways of the Arjiki, of her tribe? She is Arjiki, and will always be Arjiki, no matter-"_

" _What are you doing?_ " The boy turned with a soft gasp as Nessa silently joined him on the stairs, tucking her nightgown around her legs.

"Mama and Papa are trying to convince Tibbett that Elia is white again, not savage." He winced as she reached out and pinched him. " _Ow! What was that for?_ "

She met his gaze, eyes blazing. "That's a dirty word! She is _not_ savage, Shell! No more savage than Tibbett is."

The boy studied his sister, gaze narrowing before he turned back to the conversation. But something caught in his mind, and he turned back to Nessa. Supper had come and gone, and both he and Nessa had been sent to bed early; Elphaba had slipped off to her room as soon as the meal finished- or, at least, that's what both siblings assumed, seeing as they hadn't seen or heard a word from their older sister since dinner. It was still early; darkness had only just fallen, leaving a thousand stars in its wake. Despite her shakiness, she was quickly picking up their language, to the delight of both their parents. "Since when are you so friendly with the _translator_ , Nessa?"

She snapped her mouth shut, wrapping her arms around her knees. In retaliation, he reached out and pinched her, and she winced, but didn't say a word. Shell watched his older sister, but she refused to acknowledge him, and after several minutes, got up, silently slipping down the stairs and out the front door. A moment passed, before he followed.

From his place on the porch, he could see Nessa sitting on the step, and beyond her, Elphaba, wandering among the fields of wheat, black hair loose around her shoulders, barefoot, the hem of her nightgown shifting in the evening breeze. She didn't say a word, and not for the first time, Shell wondered what she was doing. He'd snuck out the night before; watched her wander among the wheat in the late hours while the rest of the house slept, always hurrying back to bed before she noticed or returned.

 _Is she calling to her gods? For her husband? Is she performing some ritual in hopes it will take her back to the tribe she lived with?_ He watched in silence as his oldest sister tilted her head back; a cry, so similar to a wounded animal's, escaping her throat, before she sank to the ground around her. It made no sense- she was starting to speak their language again, which meant she was returning to the white man's world. So why was she _still_ so upset? She was finally home, after seven years away. Why couldn't she be happy?

"I think she misses her children."

Shell turned to his older sister, brow furrowing. "What do you mean she misses her children?"

Nessa's gaze took him in from the side as he joined her, and she swallowed thickly. "I know you're probably too young, but _I_ remember how Mama reacted after she was taken that day in the grasslands." Her gaze slipped back to their sister, nearly hidden out in the wheat. "She was heartbroken. She didn't function properly for days after. Papa couldn't get her to eat, let alone function enough to care for both of us. All she could do was sit and stare off into the distance. She blamed herself for Elia being taken. I think she still does, to some degree."

"But Mama did _nothing_ wrong."

"But she also didn't _stop_ them from stealing Elia away. Not that she could, but still. The guilt has been enough to eat her alive. And Elia was the oldest. Mama probably thought that Elia could take care of herself, but she hadn't counted on-"

"... them." Shell offered softly, curbing his desire to use the word 'savages'- for it was clear that even though majority of the people in Nest Hardings saw the Arjiki as such, they were the furthest thing from it, having provided their sister not only with a protection these last seven years, but a home, a marriage, and children. The same children she was now grieving for; because though they were not dead, the miles that separated them brought about a different kind of death.

Distance. And the feeling that she had would never again hold them in her arms, kiss their heads, sing to them, watch them grow...

 _All the things Mama had gone through after Elia had been taken._

Shell turned to his sister, as Elphaba's cries sliced through the air, animalistic and wounded, as she wrapped her arms around her womb, rocking back and forth on her knees, begging the gods to take her back to her children. "Mama should _know_. She should recognize it, shouldn't she? That what Elia's going through is what _she_ went through."

"A woman cannot recognize her own pain in someone else, unless she sees, and your mother does not _wish_ to see."

The siblings turned as Tibbett moved past them, going out into the wheat.


	38. Chapter 38

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Thropp Household,_

 _Day Three_

She had fought Tibbett about going back into the house. Just because she was regaining the white's language did not mean she was suddenly white again. It did not mean she could forget her tribe, her husband, the children she had birthed. And he had tried to make her listen, tried to get her to understand. Finally, reaching up to take her face in his hands, so that she had no choice but to look at him.

 _It is a long process, returning to the whites,_ he'd told her softly. _Long, and hard, and painful, for it eats at your soul, the longer you are away from the tribe. I know, I have been away from our tribe for many moons now, and though I am desperate to go back, I know I cannot return. They will never accept an Arjiki who walks within the white's world. Not fully. But you, princess, you can return. You have five days left. Five days. If they do not keep to their promise, you can enact yours._

She had argued with him, saying that she didn't know how to contact Fiyero, but he'd stopped her, resting a finger against her lips. A moment had passed between the pair, for they were twins in their shared experience, and then, gently, he'd leaned over, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

 _"Sogni."_

She'd met his gaze, tears in her own. What he was suggesting was uncommon within the tribe- for only the shaman and those trained, walked between the worlds- her husband, being one of them, having learned it as a child, from the shaman. And she knew that fires and abundant, sweet-smelling herbs were not always needed to perform such rituals; that it was not herbs and chants that made the ability to walk between worlds strong, but the desire.

And her desire to return home was stronger than anyone truly knew.

Darkness draped about the world like a curtain; the early hours of the her third day at the Thropp house would not dawn for several hours, for it was mere minutes past midnight-

She curled up beneath the blankets, tears drying on her cheeks as she put every painful beat of her heart into the desire to see her husband, to be back with her tribe. There was no moon to comfort her tonight as she drifted off to sleep; she could hear the soft crackling of a bonfire in the distance, and followed the noise, her feet bare and soft as she made her way towards the camp.

The sight of it in the distance, the comforting smell of smoke wafting towards her, tugged harder at her desire to return, and she slowly, cautiously, picked her way through the woods, inching closer and closer to it. She could hear the soft rush of water not far away, for she followed the river-

 _Follow the river. It will lead you home._

Mr. Thropp's words pounded in her head, and she shook them away; she wanted no reminder of the Thropps or their family, not when she was getting so close to hers, even if it was only in the dream world. One hand reached down to tug at the collar of the nightgown, only to feel familiar buckskin beneath her fingers. Evidently, her desire rid her of every mention of the white's world within the realm she now walked in. A soft sigh escaped her throat. Oh, how she missed the softness of buckskin- the younger girl still refused to give back her buckskin dress and moccasins.

She continued through the woods, stopping only briefly at the sound of something behind her before continuing on. Eventually, though, the feeling that she was being followed got to be too much, and she turned, letting out a soft gasp as she found herself face-to-face with her husband. _"Yero."_

 _"Fabala?"_

They stood mere feet apart, studying each other in silence. Though absolutely her husband, there was one detail that puzzled her- a singular diamond in the center of his forehead. She knew her husband's diamonds were upon his chest, the starburst she loved to run her fingers over so. There was no diamonds anywhere else on him, so this new one puzzled her. Had he received it after she'd been taken? Was it meant for mourning? Or revenge? But as her gaze roved over him, those questions quickly left her mind, for something else puzzled her.

He was dressed similarly to the Chief, though for what reason, she didn't know. And he appeared to be slightly older than his nearly twenty-two moons. Not much, but was clear that something had aged her beloved husband prematurely; whether it was her abduction or something else, she couldn't be sure. _"Yero-"_

But he quickly cut her off, closing the distance between them and gathering her in his arms, his mouth finding hers and taking possession of it. A moment passed, before she melted into the kiss, sliding her arms around his neck and deepening it. He tasted of fresh picked berries, the fires of their tent, dried meat, the wind that sang through the grasslands, and something so distinctly her husband she knew but couldn't name; her eyes closed, and she melted even further into the kiss. Never breaking the kiss, he gathered her up, carrying her towards the riverbed, before lying her down among the soft grasses at the bank. Neither spoke a word as they undressed, only breaking the kiss long enough to remove clothing before returning.

Hands moved over skin, mouths parted softly only to reconnect, fingers slid together, and eventually, he slid within her; she broke the kiss, crying out in shock, for she had not known that such an act could take place when one walked between worlds. After readjusting to it, they shifted so that she was nestled atop, her long black hair tumbling down around them, her body on full view for her husbands. His hands, with those beautiful slender fingers she loved so, roamed freely up her body, stopping briefly to caress her womb, where their children had each grown, before moving up to cradle her breasts and stroke the buds that hardened at his touch. His gaze met hers, and she struggled to make out what he was saying, before a firm, sharp tugging within her womb ripped her from between the worlds, jolting her awake with a gasp.

 _"Tornare da me, Fabala. Tornare a noi. Per noi, per il bambino."_

She wrapped her arms around herself, choking on a soft sob as it slowly began to dawn on her that the world she'd walked within hadn't been the present, but a very brief, very real, glimpse of a future. One she was not sure she would ever get to experience.


	39. Chapter 39

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Melena had pulled Elphaba asked that morning after breakfast, determined to help her relearn their language; Papa had slipped out of the house to work in the fields, and Shell sat watching his oldest sister and mother, leaving Nessa to her own devices. She took this opportunity to follow Tibbett out onto the porch; the young translator sat on the step, watching the wheat sway gently in the morning breeze. "She doesn't look good."

Without preamble, the teenager gathered her skirt around her as she took a seat beside him. He sipped silently from the cup of coffee Melena had poured that morning, not necessarily refusing the acknowledge the teen, but hoping she would take the hint that he was not only older, but not interested, and scram. Nessa did neither. "What happened to her?"

Silence, before he couldn't take it any longer.

"She walked between the worlds last night."

Nessa furrowed a brow. "What? What does that mean?"

Tibbett set the cup down on the step below them, meeting her gaze briefly. "Old shaman ritual, to contact loved ones. She was trying to contact her husband."

"Did she find him?"

He nodded briefly. "Not whom she was expecting."

Nessa's brow deepened. "What does _that_ mean?"

Tibbett glanced at the girl, unsure of what to say. Elphaba had not been the only one to walk between worlds last night. The young princess seemed to possess a natural gift for _walking_ , as they called it- the ability to move between the worlds of the past, present and future- and, if the haunted look in her eye was anything to go by, she had walked not within the present or past as one would expect, but had found herself caught within a moment of the future, and it had terrified her. If not terrified her, then shaken her badly. As badly as his experience had shaken him.

The young translator had awoken about the same time Elphaba had, the smell of a cooking fire strong within his nose, but not alone. Copper had also awoken him; the smell was so strong, he feared he'd bitten clean through his tongue and that had caused the smell, but had soon found that wasn't the case. Flashes of bloody hands and legs assaulted his vision, an echoing scream filled his ears- one of pain, of fear; animalistic and primal and _strong_. A flash of skin, milky white and taut, and smooth in its rounded form, a sun dawning over parted legs, over a soft patch of curls that sat just below, nearly hidden by the growth.

"Tibbett?"

Her soft voice jarred him, and he cleared his throat, bring the cup to his lips to avoid speaking or even looking at the teenage girl.

Long dark hair, pulled back in thick braids, that smelled of sunshine and honey. The sound of something ripping assaulted his ears, and winced slightly, trying to shrug it off as a chill from the breeze. The obvious sound of liquid dripping into the dirt, followed by another scream, louder, stronger. Nails dug into skin, a body arched and slowly, something began to appear.

Slowly, Nessa reached out, gently, cautiously, sliding her hand down his arm and over his wrist, before moving to tuck her fingers within his. She scooted closer slightly, until her hip brushed lightly against his.

"Tibbett? What is it?"

A push, another scream; a head, now rested between parted legs. Heavy breathing, a whimper that morphed into a cry that rose into a scream. Copper was strong within the air, the colour red bright and jarring against soft, milky white thighs. Another scream, a grunt, but nothing for several minutes. Another scream, this one more akin to a plea, followed by another push. He glanced down at Nessa as she gently squeezed their joined hands.

"What's wrong? Tibbett? What is it? Please?"

Strong arms, helping to keep the woman steady, for clearly she was having a difficult time. A kiss, a whispered vow, another scream. The white chord that connected mother and child appearing, with slight appearance of the babe, for it was evident the woman was in the throes of childbirth. Thick, long braids brushed off shoulders, away from sensitive breasts, familiar braids.

Nessa, now fully worried about the man, squeezed his hand harder, in attempt to get him to talk to her. But he set the cup down and got up, hastily breaking the contact with her. "Tibbett?" She watched as he strode down the steps and out into the wheat, ignoring her. "Tibbett!"

The young translator ran a hand through his hair, certain that what he had gotten glimpses of had been the future- not the same one Elphaba had walked within, but one involving her no less. One he could not discern to be good or bad, for the glimpses had been fast, quick film cuts unlike any he'd ever witnessed before. Though it was evident that in this future the young woman in question was in the throes of childbirth, but there was no glimpse of her husband, other than strong hands on her shoulders, supporting her, no voice heard. Whether it meant that Elphaba returned to the tribe or not, he couldn't say. But he knew that these were not glimpses of a white birth- the whites were notorious for trying to control a woman's body, even up until the moment a child burst forth into the world; they viewed the mother has having no real part in the process- something so foreign a concept than that of the tribes, who viewed all women as the bearers of the earth, the ones who kept the lines going, for it was their bodies new life grew within, and from their most precious of places that new life was borne from.

"Tibbett!" He turned as Nessa hurried up to him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, wrapping both her hands around the one she'd grabbed. Her eyes filled with worry, and she studied him briefly before asking, "What's the matter?"

The young man bit his lip. How did he possibly go about explaining that when he'd walked between the worlds, he'd witnessed a future far removed from the one here? That he did not foresee her staying in the white man's world, but returning to their tribe? How did he even begin to explain that he'd witnessed her older sister giving birth?


	40. Chapter 40

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _"Papa! Papa!"_

Fiyero looked up, the brush falling from his hand as he rushed from the horse he'd been grooming towards his children's cries. He found them not in their tent, nor with the other children, but in his father's tent, huddled around their grandfather. Sarima and the shaman knelt beside the Chief, silently attending to him as his grandchildren huddled close, refusing to leave their grandfather's side.

 _"Che cosa succede? Sarima!"_

The older woman met the young prince's gaze, and simply shook her head, gaze darting to the children, the meaning clear. _Get the young ones out of here, do not let them see their grandfather like this. Especially not after losing their mother._

Without a word, Fiyero gently gathered his children, scooping Nor into his arms. The princess let out a screech, crying for her grandfather, even as Irji followed obediently with Manek in tow after a stern glance from Sarima.

 _"Nonno! Nonno!"_ Nor's cries for her grandfather dissolved into screams, and others in the tribe turned at the sound, some came over to offer help to the young princess, but Fiyero waved them off, taking the children back to their tent. He had to talk to his children, and the only way he could do that was if he got Nor to calm down once inside their tent, where she was among the furs that still smelled of her mother...

Once all four were settled inside, he set Nor gently among the bedroll and furs of the bed he used to share with Elphaba, before kneeling before them. _"Abbastanza, Nor! Cora quello che è successo? Parlare con me. Nor!"_ He shook her gently, and the child hiccuped, tears continuing to slide down her cheeks. She reached up, wiping at her nose as all children do, and Fiyero sighed. He'd been harsh with his baby girl, he knew he had. Harsher than he'd meant to be. Taking a deep breath, he asked her again, but all the child did was curl against his shoulder.

Irji, though only at the tender age of four, almost five, was as perceptive as his father and as inquisitive as his mother, and had watched everything that had happened. Papa had said it was okay to go see grandfather, and they'd dashed off toward Avaric's tent, but upon entering-

 _"Caduto."_ The boy's whisper was so soft, Fiyero had to tug his oldest son into his arms and tilt his head down to be able to hear. He asked the child to repeat himself, which the boy did, adding a new detail this time- that Avaric had ordered them to fetch Sarima and the shaman, and that his heart was hurting. Fiyero shuddered, pulling his children close and pressing kisses to their heads. He could only think of one cause for such sudden, shocking pain.

A broken heart.

Avaric had suffered one once before, after his wife had died, taking the stillborn babe with her, leaving him alone to raise a six-year-old son _and_ lead his tribe. Fiyero had been no older than his own children when his mother had died, and his memories of the night his mother and baby sister died were fuzzy at best. He did remember, sharply, however, that his father had seemed to shut down in the weeks after his the burial- avoiding his son and focusing solely on his tribe; to the point that Fiyero had turned to Sarima for parental love. The medicine woman had gone to the chief, scolding him for neglecting his child, and Avaric had listened.

Now, though, Fiyero, being older and wiser- and a father himself, who had lost his wife, though not to childbirth, but to the whites- he understood the pain of heartbreak. And he had a sneaking suspicion of what had caused his father's this time. After a moment, he released his children and stepped out of the tent, going in search of Candle, who quickly agreed to watch the children for the young prince while he went back to his father's tent.

He stepped back inside, watching in silence as Sarima and the shaman worked over his father. Softly clearing his throat, he watched as both turned, and after a moment, he moved towards Sarima, glancing at her quickly before kneeling down beside his father and taking the older man's hand. _"Padre."_ Avaric turned towards his son, his blue eyes as dull as they'd been when his wife had died.

Avaric's voice was soft; he swallowed thickly before falling to sleep thanks to the medicine the shaman had given him. Slowly, Fiyero stood, turning to the two, his father's words in his head. _Bring her home and make our tribe whole again._

 _"Bene?"_

The pair shared a glance, before Sarima gently took the prince aside. Her voice was soft, filled with worry. _"Principe, sta morendo di un cuore spezzato."_

 _"Sarima, sei sicuro?"_

She nodded. _"Si."_

The young prince sighed; he felt as though he were six-years-old again, being told by his father that his mother and baby sister didn't make it. His own heart dropped, and he felt half sick. After Elphaba had been taken, Avaric had talked about biding their time until they could rightfully steal Elphaba away and bring her home, but now...

It was evident now that the Arjiki could not wait for the right time to rescue his wife. The loss of his beloved daughter-in-law, and thereby the weakening of the tribe, had caused Avaric to suffer a broken heart, but not just Avaric. The entire tribe seemed to have lost the will to live with their princess gone; Elphaba was a light, a shining star that lit not just the night sky, but the entire tribe- with her smile, her laugh, her gentle nature and eagerness to learn, even these seven years after her arrival.

Fiyero turned back to Sarima, knowing what he needed to do. Without a word, he left the tent; he could not leave the tribe, not with his father sick and his children needing their remaining parent. Candle came out with Manek balanced on her hip, the child had been crying for his mother, and Candle had done all she could to calm the boy. Instantly, Fiyero took the toddler, settling the boy on his hip and pressing a kiss to his son's head. After explaining what had happened, Candle immediately offered to go in place of one of the tribe's warriors. She had a point- the white's might be more willing to release Elphaba if a woman showed up with a message, instead of one of the warriors.

A moment passed, before Fiyero nodded, giving her permission. With his youngest son balanced on his hip, he followed her to the horses that were tethered in the fields. It would take her at least four days for her to reach the white man's land, which would give them time to figure out how best to care for his father. As Candle hurried off, he cuddled his son close, pressing a kiss to his head, praying to the gods that by the time Candle got to the white's land, it wouldn't be too late, and that his wife would be ready to return to their tribe.


	41. Chapter 41

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The language was coming back to her; the more time Melena spent with her, patiently teaching her how to read and speak, the easier it was for her to pick up the language. Though she still resisted, she was slowly starting to lose the battle to keep her resolve. It was only the third day of her week in the white man's world, and the older woman had decided that she needed to buckle down to make sure that her oldest daughter would remain in the white man's world.

With a soft smile, Melena reached over, gently patting the younger woman's hand as she stood. It was starting to get late, and they'd been at this for hours. "You've done very well today, Sophelia. Well done." She leaned over, but the girl jerked away. She would not allow intimate contact; something Melena was unused to, for a child almost always accepted a kiss from a parent. A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she moved away, making to start supper. She had noticed that the girl still did not respond to her given name; she clung stubbornly to her savage name-

 _No, not savage. Tibbett has reminded you repeatedly that the tribe your daughter has been with for the last seven years is not savage at all-_

"Would you like to-" But the words died in her throat as she turned, to find the chair her daughter had been sitting in empty. The young princess had slipped out of it as silent as a tiger, disappearing without a sound. With a soft sigh, she turned back to fixing dinner. Shell had watched from his place in the living room, from his seat on the sofa, a book open on his lap, as his oldest sister had darted out of the kitchen and skulked silently up the stairs.

Quietly shutting his book, he'd gotten up and followed her, being careful not to alert her to his presence. He stopped outside her bedroom door, debating whether he should knock, before finally deciding against it and gently turning the door handle. "Elia?" Peeking through the slightly open door, he caught a flash as something dropped to the floor, as black cascaded down her back from the bun Nessa had forced her hair in that morning, followed by a slice of milky white skin and a glimmer of green.

The teenager let out a startled cry, unaware he'd been leaning against the door and stumbled into the room, landing on his knees, causing his oldest sister to turn. She stood above him, the dress she'd been forced into pooled at her feet, along with the undergarments, clad in only the skin she'd been born in, long black hair tumbling down her back in a pin straight waterfall of raven silk that reached the backs of her calves, almost to her ankles. It was tradition in Arjiki culture to not cut the hair, for they believed it possessed pieces of the soul- trimming the dead ends would rejuvenate the pieces of the soul that lived within, but to chop it off completely was sacrilege.

Elphaba's hair had been just to the small of her back when she'd been taken that long ago day in the Thousand Year Grasslands, but in the seven years since she'd been gone, it had grown exponentially; it was part of the reason why she always kept it in such thick, braids. Not only was it at times difficult to manage, but with three children all under the age of six having been borne of her womb in three short years, she often found that their favourite thing to do was tug on her hair, often to get her attention. If she kept it up in thick braids, the length was shortened in appearance and the children couldn't grab it as easily as when it was loose.

Shell quickly scampered back, hitting the door jamb as his sister turned, stepping out of the pooled material at her feet. She shrugged, inviting him to look, for he was a man- despite his age; in the tribe, boys of his age were often married or seeking out the hand of a young woman of the tribe to marry, and had or would see the developing body of their bride soon enough. As she was older than the young white by a mere five years, and had already carried and birthed three children, his wandering gaze did not unnerve her like her husband's had that night they had first consummated their marriage.

Fiyero's blue gaze had drunk every inch of her, every soft white curve and flat surface in, memorizing her, feasting on her before taking her softly. And as the pair had gotten older, as they'd grown up together, his gaze had turned from an eager youth's excitement, to one of a mature man's appreciation. As her body had grown, her belly swelling and growing round with each child they had created, her husband had drunk in the softening of her, the fullness of her breasts, the looseness of her hips, the taut, thin skin that rose out before her. And with all three of her children now free of her womb and in the world, the last true gaze her husband had had of her the night before she'd been taken had been one of love. He'd searched and found the hidden curves and valleys left by pregnancy and childbirth, the silver scars that graced her inner thighs, the light pooch just above the curls between her legs that was the last remnant of her children having resided within her womb...

He had drunk her in, finding every little memory that marked her skin, and traced it with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, that night. He tasted every bit of her and she him, unaware it would be the last time either would do so. And now, she longed for that gaze, that touch.

The boy swallowed thickly, watching his sister like a cornered animal as she simply pulled her long black hair over her shoulders, obscuring her breasts. "I... I'm sorry, Elia, I didn't mean-"

But all she did was turn, going to the dresser and grabbing the brush that sat atop, and it was then that he saw the hundreds of green diamonds that cascaded down her back like a waterfall.


	42. Chapter 42

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Maybe now, he would understand. Maybe now, he would try and help her.

For she'd watched the boy for the last three days, as he hid in the shadows, watching her and everyone else. He was as astute as her husband, as calculating and quick to understand things as Fiyero, and she hoped, that in showing him the diamonds upon her back, he would be willing to not just understand, but help.

Help her to flee before she became so entrenched in his world that she forgot hers. Help her to convince his parents to let her return to her tribe, to her husband and her babies, for she felt as though she would die the longer she stayed within this world. It was not hers to inhabit; she did not belong, and yet, if she stayed, she would not belong to her world either. She needed the boy to get his parents to understand. And so she deliberately left the door unlocked, deliberately stripped down, deliberately kept quiet.

She _needed_ his help.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the boy slowly climb to his feet; he seemed to think for but a moment before quickly and quietly shutting the door. Then, he continued to make his way towards her, stopping when he was close enough to touch her, and let his gaze move over her back. The diamonds shimmered in the evening light, and he soon realized that they weren't actual diamonds, but tattoos.

Hundreds and hundreds of green tattoos, that cascaded from her shoulders, down her back, over her buttocks; a waterfall of diamonds, signifying her acceptance into the Arjiki tribe, her position as wife to the Crown Prince, as Crown Princess, as the future Chieftess, once her husband became Chief. She was of high status within the tribe, higher than anyone in the white world would ever know. She had come to the tribe as a captive, a prisoner, taken in a raid and bought from the Scrow, married to the Crown Prince at the tender age of thirteen; swelled greatly with and borne her first child not long after turning sixteen moons, her second around seventeen, and her last before she saw nineteen moons. Her children were royal, her oldest son, the future chief, her daughter, the only Crown Princess if her brother failed to marry. In Arjiki tradition, the oldest daughter of the Crown Prince and Princess was referred to as the _gioiello reale_ , the Royal Jewel, for she was the first female borne of the future Chief and Chieftess, and therefore, held a title higher than even her brothers.

And since Nor was Elphaba's _only_ daughter, the title meant so much more. While her oldest son was the future Crown Prince and would one day be Chief after his father, her daughter was the one that kept the Arjiki bloodline continuing, despite the white blood in her veins. In Arjiki culture, a woman was seen as more valuable than a man, because she carried the future lines within her. With each of Elphaba's pregnancies, she- like many Arjiki women round with child- had been seen as akin to a living goddess, growing the seeds her husband had planted within her. A woman's role in the tribe was sacred; it was why women were protected, why daughters were seen as blessings, not curses.

She met the boy's gaze; didn't say a word as he hesitantly reached out to brush his fingers against the slightly raised pattern on her skin. To say Shell had never seen anything like it, would be an understatement. He'd gotten used to the tattoos on the translator's face, the same green diamonds forever in full view for the world to see. But these... seeing his sister's... and the _number_... it was shocking. A moment passed, before he looked up, meeting her gaze as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

"I... I don't understand..."

She leaned close, their faces mere inches apart, her long black hair falling in curtains down either side of her face, hiding her neck and giving her head a disjointed appearance away from her body or, perhaps the appearance that her neck was unusually long, similar to a _kintasqu_ in Arjiki oral tradition- a woman whose neck elongates or whose head detaches. The boy stepped back, startled, and she reached out, grabbing his wrist. Voice shaky, she carefully replied,

"... _h...elp... me..._ "

Shell pulled away, half startled by her voice and half startled by the strength of her grip. In the seven years since she'd been gone, he'd all but forgotten the sound of his oldest sister's voice. It was soft, melodic, haunting almost. Was this the same voice her children got to hear as she sang them to sleep? That her husband got to hear? She had barely said two words since arriving- aside from the English she was relearning- and when she did speak, it was to Tibbett, in their tongue, away from the family. "But... but how? I can't do anything, Elia. I can't-"

She pulled back, releasing him. Setting the brush on the bed, she reached down, hands resting over her womb. Tears began to trail softly down her cheeks, and Shell suddenly realized why she was asking.

"You miss your children." She looked up at him, dark eyes filled with pain as the words left his mouth. "You want to go back to your children, right? Is that it, Elia? You want-"

She nodded frantically, cutting him off. _"I miei bambinis..."_

The teenager watched his older sister; he'd started to pick up a little Arjiki from Tibbett, who was willing to teach the young man. The boy was more eager to learn of his sister's old life than his parents. Yes, he saw his sister as having been lost these last seven years, but even more so than that. He saw what his parents refused to see- that she was a grown woman, a married woman, a mother, who had built a life for herself within the tribe that had taken her in. That she had been happy, until the white had come and taken her away. "You want to be... returned to your... babies."

His sister nodded, the weight of her breaking heart becoming too much for her, and she crumpled at his feet, arms wrapped tight around her womb, sobs shaking her small shoulders. Before Shell could do or say anything, a voice on the other side of the door startled him. "Sophelia? Is everything all right?" Never hesitating, the boy rushed to the door, grabbing the handle and firmly holding it closed, even as Melena gently pushed on it. "Sophelia? Sweetheart?" She gently pushed again, and again, Shell held the door, before finally reaching down at locking it. The click of the lock caused Melena to pause, and after a moment, she sighed. "If you need to talk, you can always come talk to me, sweetheart."

Once she'd left, Shell turned back to oldest sister. It was evident to him now that, with that simple action, he was on her side.


	43. Chapter 43

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: So the third day passes by fairly quick in this story. But, there's a major reason for it.** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Thropp Household,_

 _Day Four_

The early morning sky was had not yet gained its colour on the fourth day of the week. The remaining hours of the third day had been fairly tense within the Thropp household; Elphaba refused to speak with anyone, Shell was even quieter than usual, Tibbett was avoid Nessa at all costs, only speaking on occasion with Elphaba, and in hushed tones in secluded corners of the house, and Melena and Frex both spent the time hoovering over all four, unsure of how to react or respond.

Safe to say, no one was sleeping much that night. Elphaba had locked herself in her room; Shell was camped out in his own, trying to figure out a way to help his oldest sister, and while Melena and Frex were up conversing softly in their bed about what had seemed to go wrong, Tibbett was out in the wheat field, lost in thought.

"Tibbett?"

He no longer needed to turn, to know who it was, but he did so anyway, to find Nessa, barefoot and in only her nightgown, hair down in waves, watching him. She looked about to turn the eighteen years that would signal her arrival into womanhood, though she still maintained some of that childlike innocence. A soft sigh escaped his throat. "Go back to bed, Miss Nessarose. Dawn has not yet chosen to appear. You need to sleep."

"So do you." She made her way towards him, reaching out to take his hand. There, among the quiet of the wheat, and the darkness of the morning, they stood, strangers tossed together by a common factor- her sister. But there was something else, something besides Elphaba to connect them; a desire, a longing... dare, even, to consider... the first, innocent, unsure stirrings of... love?

Tibbett would be a liar if he did not admit that he felt _something_ for the headstrong teenage white, but was it really the beginnings of love? The young translator had gone for so long ignoring the feelings of love, that he knew not what exactly they were anymore. But Nessa... this... this beautiful, innocent young woman... this... _white_ woman... something in her called to him. She saw the white he was born as, and the Arjiki he had been raised within, and in her own, gentle, silent way, accepted them both- the man and the warrior he would have been.

She accepted the parts of himself he could not, for he did not feel as though he truly belonged in the white world, nor did he belong with the Arjiki. Nessa, in her own way, understood and accepted it, because she did not belong to herself, nor in the world she'd been born into. She'd always known it, but after her sister had been taken, it had become even more abundantly clear.

"Tibbett."

He met her gaze, and she blushed. "Yes, Miss Nessarose? What is within your heart?"

She started, blushing. "I... I believe... I believe that I... that I am falling in love with you, Tibbett."

Slowly, he pulled away. "You know not of love, you are a child."

A shake of her head as she moved closer. "Not anymore. In two weeks time, I will be eighteen, a grown woman. You forget, that I am like my sister. Just as headstrong as she is. I know what I want. And... I may not be as experienced as she in the ways of love and marriage and children, but I do know when I desire something, or someone." She took his hand, pressing her palm to his; his long, slender fingers dwarfed hers by inches, and after a moment, she slid her fingers between his. "I know that what I am feeling is just the start, and I wish to act on it, for it could be something beautiful."

She moved closer, meeting his gaze. The briefest of moments passed between them, before she rose slightly onto her toes-

"You would choose a white-savage as your mate?" He pulled away, turning from her and continuing through the field. "When you could have any white."

"I don't want any white! And you... you are no more a savage than my sister is! You said it yourself, the Arjiki are a peaceful people who just want to be left alone! You are kind and gentle and intelligent and wise in the ways of the world! A world I long to see! You claim we are keeping my sister captive- well I have been a captive too! Treated as a child, though I am near eighteen! I want to make my own way in the world, become my own person! Find love, real love!"

She followed, until they were so far out in the field, anyone looking out the windows of the house would be unable to see them. Once she got close enough, she reached up, taking his face in her hands, fingers gently caressing the diamonds upon his cheeks. "Tibbett, you say I'm too young, that I don't know what love is, but with you... you see _me_. Not just a little girl, like everyone else. When you look at me, you see a woman. _Please_ , Tibbett. I know you feel it too. Please."

He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them and meeting hers. She was right; he saw the woman she was becoming, not the child her parents wished to keep her as. She was smart, strong-willed, and braver than most. Stubborn in her ways, yes, but so was the princess. It was the same fire in her soul that resided in Elphaba's that had allowed her to survive within the tribe as long as she had; the same fire within his soul.

 _The Arjiki have a saying- twin souls reside in two bodies. And when those souls find each other, they combine, not just in the creation of children, but within each heart. Deny it all you want, but you have found the second half of your soul; it is staring back at you, through Nessa's beautiful dark eyes._

A moment passed, before he leaned down. "You hold the other piece of my soul, Nessarose, and I hold yours." She smiled softly, unsure of what he meant, but accepting his kiss eagerly. When they finally broke apart, she met his gaze, smiling softly, fingers brushing against his lips. Her soft request startled him, but only briefly.

"Please, Tibbett."

Worry filled his gaze, and after a moment, he glanced behind him, before tugging her towards the shadows of the barn. "You are not asking-"

She nodded. "I am."

"Nessa, there is no going back once-" She rested a finger against his lips, quieting him.

"I know. I don't care. I'm a grown woman, I know what I want. I know that I am falling in love. Please, Tibbett, take me as my sister was taken. Show me love the way she was shown."

"You are asking to steal love from my very heart. Love I may not be able to give."

"If I am stealing love from yours, then you have stolen love from mine. And the prince from my sister's and she from him. Do not tell me what you have not felt these past three days is not real." He sighed; he couldn't. It was very real, and it scared him. "Please, Tibbett."

A moment passed, before he pulled her close, realizing she was right; that their hearts had each been stolen by the other, and that no matter what happened, this love was always meant to be.


	44. Chapter 44

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

It hurt, at first.

"Are you sure you still wish to do this, Nessarose?"

She nodded, reaching up to caress his cheek as they atop the blankets she'd dug out against the hay; the other was draped about them for cover and mild warmth. "Please, Tibbett. I want this."

Gently, he continued to push against her, watching her for any sign of distress, listening in case she asked him to stop. Finally, after several gentle pushes, he slid within her folds, finally breaking the barrier that had kept guard her most sacred of places. She whimpered, biting her lip to keep from crying out; it wasn't necessarily him entering her that hurt, but the breaking of her hymen. Instantly, he leaned down, brushing soft kisses to her lips and cheeks, apologizing softly in both his native tongue and hers, kissing the startled tears that had escaped her eyes and trailed down her cheeks away.

Eventually, the pain she felt lessened, dissolving into a dull ache that she found oddly pleasurable. And then slowly, he began to push into her, being gentle, so as not to shock her system even more. Nessa shifted, pushing her hips towards his, more in an attempt to get comfortable with him inside her than anything- for he was so thick; it had embarrassed her when she'd laid eyes on him after they'd undressed.

Were all men as thick? Was her sister's husband? Did all men fill their wives the way Tibbett had filled her, nestled comfortably within her folds? Had her sister felt the same sensations she was feeling, when her husband had pushed himself into her? Had the same movements, the same burning desire build within them both as they'd made love, and made their children?

Soon, they found their rhythm, and the gentle rocking was soon accompanied by kisses, trailing hands and feet and soft, whispered words of love. As they got closer and closer to their climax, he nudged his nose against hers. _"Stai bene, il mi amore?"_

A small smile graced her features. She didn't understand the words, but the tone was clear, and after a moment, she nodded. " _Si_. I'm okay. I'm with you."

He kissed her deeply before breaking the kiss and continuing to push into her. Their rhythm got faster, though still maintained that gentleness. When finally she began to reach that height, she dug her nails into his back, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and pushing her hips up and into his, tightening herself around his thickness. _"Oh, Tibbett!"_

She buried her face in his chest to muffle her cries of ecstasy, exploding around him as her whole body went rigid with desire. He struggled to maintain control; she had come first, he'd listened to her sweet release, which is all he really wanted- to make sure she was satisfied before following her, but he knew that if he didn't maintain control, they could very well end up with a child of their own-

So close to release, he forced himself to pull out of her, to _not_ release his seed within her; she understood why, and did not fault him for it. He was conscious of her and it being her body, and he respected her. Not many men would.

But Tibbett is not many men.

She had to admit, that it had felt strange, being filled by him. But not unwelcome.

After collapsing within the hay in the stable, upon the blanket, Nessa snuggled into his chest, pulling the other blanket around them. It had felt right, joining with Tibbett in this way. He now trailed his fingers over her back, brushing a soft kiss to her hair. Moments passed, before she finally spoke, trailing her fingers over his chest. "Do you miss your tribe?"

A moment of tension, before he relaxed, her trailing fingers helping to calm him. "With every fiber of my very being."

"Then why don't you return?"

He sighed, pulling her closer. "I do not know that they would accept me; I have spent too many years in the white's world."

"But your mother, Sarima, she would accept you-"

"She would not recognize me."

Nessa pushed herself onto her elbow; her fingers stopped as she stared at him. "A mother never forgets her child, Tibbett. No matter how many years apart. And you were her child. She loved you."

"Even if I were to return, Nessa, I cannot. I do not know if they are still in the same place or if they have moved, as they do, with the seasons and the buffalo."

"The only way to know is to search for them." She replied, laying back down against his chest. She snuggled close, tucking her head beneath his chin, as though she were meant to be there.

He sighed, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I know, my love." The words had come so easily to the young man as they'd made love in the barn; not for the first time, did he wonder if the fire in his soul had been waiting for Nessa, hoping to reawaken with the discovery of its other half. He'd found the teenager interesting when he'd first met her- and yet, something in his heart had sparked, as though the flame in him recognized the flame in her, and called to it. And perhaps it had been calling to it all along, but had never known it, until now, until this moment. Tibbett could no longer deny it; he'd fallen in love with the teenage girl with the long braids and deep brown eyes- eyes so similar to her sister- not long after first arriving at the house with Elphaba that day. He knew it now, and slowly, he was embracing it.

"We could go look for them."

An eyebrow rose. "And how would _we_ do that?"

Nessa ignored the pointed question, moving to press a kiss to his chest before returning to her position. "Papa has always said that if you get lost in the woods, to follow the river. I don't see why we can't do the same, and follow it back to your tribe."

"Follow the river?"

"Mhmm. Follow the river."

"Why follow the river?"

"Because it will bring you home."


	45. Chapter 45

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

He sighed; his children were curled within his arms, and not for the first time, did he wonder how his wife had often put up with it. He loved his children dearly, but there were moments where it felt as though they were strangling him, or crushing him, and yet, when his wife had been here, she'd happily embraced all three of her babies at night. Perhaps it was because she had carried each of them, and so the connection to their children was stronger for her, because they had each grown within her body and had come from it. Or perhaps it was just a mother's natural intuition. But either way, Fiyero felt as though he were falling short.

Yes, they were his children, he had released the seeds which had helped create them, and he loved them each, as much as Elphaba did, but there was still something missing. And as he lay with his children all curled against his chest, he understood what it was.

 _Her._

He could not focus entirely on their children; his attention was drawn to Avaric, and the tribe, and how he would get their mother back, that he'd unknowingly and unwillingly neglected his children. Those three beautiful, precious jewels all below the age of six, had, since losing their mother to the white man's world, longed to be in the embrace of the only parent they had left. They rarely left Fiyero's side, always sliding into bed with him before drifting off to sleep, with their father's arms and their mother's scent tight around them.

After a moment, he pressed a kiss to each dark head before slowly untangling himself from their embrace and getting up, tucking the furs around them and slipping out of the tent. In the early morning hours, with Dawn just beginning to break over the horizon, he made his way to Avaric's tent, slipping inside without a word. Sarima sat beside the chief, gently applying a poultice to his forehead to hopefully draw out the sorrow that was killing him. it was her turn to look after the leader of the tribe; the shaman had looked after him the majority of the night while Sarima got some rest, and now it was her turn.

"Sarima?"

She looked up as Fiyero joined her; worry filled his blue eyes, and she sighed. "Ah... _è lento, principe. Non lo ucciderà immediatamente. Sta aspettando."_

 _"Attesa?"_ She nodded. _"Aspettando cosa?"_

The older woman met his gaze, never stopping her ministrations to the chief. _"Perché tua moglie torni. La nostra tribù è spezzata senza di lei; la principessa è una luce, data dalla Grande Madre stessa. Vide che il nostro popolo stava soffrendo, e ha inviato una luce per alleviarlo. Non è solo tua moglie, Fiyero, è la risposta alla nostra preghiera. Ha riportato la vita alla nostra tribù, a te e a tuo padre, e con lei sparita, non durerà molto più a lungo, e temo, nemmeno tu."_

The young prince started in surprise, but soon realized that she was right. Each day that came, each night that passed, the longer she was gone, the more he felt his soul getting dimmer, weaker. He was strong for their children, he had to be, but in the quiet corners of the day, when he was alone, he could not deny the heartbreak he was feeling. A moment passed, before he finally spoke, choosing his words carefully. _"Tornerà, vero, Sarima? tu... si prevede il suo ritorno?"_

She swallowed; dare she reveal the vision the Great Spirits had sent her last night? Would it only get his hopes up, simply to shatter them if it did not come true? A moment settled between them, before she finally spoke, _"Ho previsto un ritorno, Fiyero, ma non so se è suo. I grandi spiriti non mi permetteranno di vedere chi tornerà alla tribù. Non mi permettono di vedere il corpo o il viso. Solo che c'è qualcuno, e che hanno portato qualcuno con loro."_

The young prince started in surprise. _"Due?"_

She nodded, and after several moments, Fiyero thanked her and got up, slipping out of the tent to leave her to her work. As he returned to the tent to check on the children, he felt a tugging at the back of his brain. He walked between the worlds the night before, come across his wife, though it was not the woman he longed for, the woman who'd been stolen from him and returned to the white world.

No, this woman was older, but not by much, perhaps a year or two, and she was seated on the bank of the waterfall, her feet within the cool water, long black hair pulled back in braids. He'd skulked towards her silently, before finally settling behind her and sliding his arms around her shoulders. She hadn't said a word, just simply reached up and covered his hands with hers, humming softly in contentment as he'd kissed her head. After several minutes, however, She'd shifted to face him, removing his arms from around her shoulders and taking his hands. Her voice had been soft, steady, as she spoke. _"Ancora un paio di settimane, amore mio."_

 _"Settimane?"_

She simply nodded, moving his hands down, and he let his gaze follow. His breath had caught as he soon realized what she meant by weeks, and tears came to his eyes. Greatly round with child, she watched him, searching for a reaction. Softly, she reached up, brushing the tears from his cheeks. _"Oh, mio marito, non piangere. Il nostro piccolo è al sicuro dentro di me. Promesso."_

She'd kissed him then, softly, lovingly, before he'd been pulled from between the worlds back into his body. He'd awoken with his children sound asleep in his arms, and had simply pulled them all closer, kissing them each repeatedly and whispering that he loved them. Tears had leaked into their hair, as he very quickly realized that the woman in the dream had not been _his_ wife, but had belonged to a him from another time, and that the babe she spoke of, that she carried, did not belong to him, and probably never would, if she did not return in this time.


	46. Chapter 46

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

"Nessarose? Nessa? Nessarose, it's time to get up. You need to help me make-"

The door to her youngest daughter's room swung open gently, and Melena stopped.

Something didn't feel right. Though, to be fair, if she were honest with herself, something hadn't felt right from the moment she'd discovered that her oldest daughter had been found living among the Indians. Something had always felt off about her discovery, as though it had been forced, as though the delicate ecosystems of the world she'd built without her daughter, and the world she'd dreamed of with her daughter home, and the world her daughter had grown accustomed to, were clashing, never to truly fit together.

Her gaze slowly moved about the room, drinking in every little detail of her youngest daughter's private haven. The bed was still made, indicating it had not been slept in, or perhaps even touched, her nightgown lay folded over the end, and the dress she had chosen to wear the night before, was gone, along with her boots and bonnet. As she stepped further into the room, she saw a notebook on the nightstand; one Nessa had chosen at the general store a few months back. Upon closer inspection, there was something sticking out of it- a folded piece of paper, and after a moment, Melena slowly removed it from between the cover and first page.

It crinkled softly as she unfolded, her eyes skimming over the words left in her daughter's neat scrawl.

Her heart dropped, and she hurried from the room. _"Frex! Frexpar!"_

Her husband came hurrying into the living room from the kitchen, Shell following. Elphaba slowly made her way out of her room, clad in her nightgown, and onto the stairs, watching the chaos from her silent perch.

 _"Melena! Melena, what is it? What's wrong?"_

 _"Nessa! It's Nessa!"_

Her husband watched her, unsure of what to say or how to react as his wife broke down in tears. Shell glanced at his father, before giving his mother a wide berth and darting up the stairs to join his oldest sister.

 _"Melena, you have to calm down! I can't understand you! What's wrong?"_

 _"I found this on her nightstand- her bed wasn't slept in! She wasn't in the house last night, Frex! Her dress and boots are gone and so is she!"_

The patriarch of the Thropp family sighed, finally taking his wife and gently moving her to sit upon the sofa before joining her and taking her hands. "Melena, you _need_ to calm down. _Please_." But all the matriarch did was shove the letter into his face, and then bury her own face in her hands. He glanced at it before taking it from her and slowly smoothing it out so he could read it better.

His dark gaze widened in surprise at the contents of her letter, as his wife broke down in sobs, and once he'd finished reading it, he turned, suddenly realizing that the translator was also not in the house. So what was in the letter was true.

On the stairs, Shell glanced at his sister, who stood watching them with a soft pout of confusion, eyebrows knit together. "I think Nessa ran away with the translator." Elphaba turned to him, and he moved down at step at the harshness in her dark eyes. It was evident that though she didn't fully understand the words, the tone she did understand, as well as the adults' reactions.

Eventually, Frex helped Melena to her feet and led her back upstairs to their room; he glanced at his two remaining children as he passed, the meaning clear. Once they were gone, Shell darted down the stairs and into the living area, to find the note Nessa had written left on the table, for Frex had left it, not wanting to take it with him for fear it would upset Melena further if she reread it, which she would have done. Slowly, Elphaba followed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and watching as the boy plucked the note from the table and return to her. He galnced back up the stairs before beckoning her to follow him into the kitchen. Once inside, he took a seat at the table, turning his gaze to the note as Elphaba joined him.

Slowly, so that she understood, or could at least follow along, he read the note aloud, finding himself becoming more and more startled with each written word.

 _'Dear Mama and Papa,_

 _I'm sorry you have to find out this way, but I do not regret my decision. I have fallen in love with Tibbett, and we have decided to leave. Please, don't blame yourselves, you have done nothing wrong. But I wish to live my own life, on my terms, with a man I choose, who loves me as much as I love him. Please, do not look at this as losing a daughter, for you've gained one back with Elphaba's return. I love my sister with all my heart, but this was always her family, never mine. Even though she had been missing those seven years, this was still her family; and to be honest, I felt that I have never truly fit into it, even before she was taken.'_

Shell glanced up at his oldest sister; Elphaba sat stoic in the chair, seemingly unfazed by Nessa's words. A moment passed, before he continued.

 _'Please, don't blame Tibbett, it is not his fault; you cannot help whom you fall in love with, and try as we might, we cannot ignore what grows between us. Know that I love you both with all my heart, as much as I love Shell, and Elphaba, for they are my siblings, and we will always have that connection. But I no longer belong in your world. And wherever Tibbett goes, I will go, because I belong in his world and he in mine, whatever that world we decide is. Please, Mama, Papa, do not grieve for me, remember me and love me still._

 _Take care of Shell and watch over Elphaba. Love them as you have loved me these past nearly eighteen years. I do not know if we shall meet again, for Tibbett and I are going in search of his tribe. We are going in search of the Arjiki._

 _All my love, forevermore,_

 _Nessa'_


	47. Chapter 47

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She let out a sigh; it had taken her two days, for she had pushed the horse probably harder than she should have. But the horse had no seemed to mind; it sensed the urgency in their flight from the tribe, and had gone willingly with her, step by step.

There had been a period where, as she'd crossed through both Yunamata and Scrow territory that she'd been stopped, but upon realizing she was Arjiki, the Yunamata had allowed her to pass, nodding softly in respect. They had heard the news of the Arjiki's princess being stolen by the whites, and had promised to stand by the tribe it it came to war with the white man, though they hoped that war would not come to pass. But before she had fully left Yunamata land, however, Liir had dispatched one of his finest riders- a young woman named Impeccata- to join the young Arjiki woman, so as to make it easier and safer for her to cross through Scrow land and into white. It had taken only moments for the young rider to join Candle, and soon, the two were off, racing through Scrow territory. But when she and Impeccata crossed into Scrow territory, they'd been stopped, however briefly.

The chief had come to her, asking her business in Scrow land, but she had replied that she had naught to do with the Scrow, but that her business was with the whites across the grasslands, in that still new territory of Munch- that it had to do with the princess, stolen by the whites and held captive in their world, that it concerned news of the chief and that it was urgent she deliver the message and fetch the princess back to their tribe before it was too late, before the chief crossed into the next world.

Traper, the Chief of the Scrow, had heard the news of the princess's capture by the whites, and for the briefest of moments, the thought that she had not been protected by the Arjiki had crossed his mind. However, he knew that when Avaric had approached him about her, that the Arjiki was perhaps the best place for her. She would have made a fine Scrow princess had she stayed within the tribe, but it would not have been her home. No, the Arjiki was her home, had been destined to be her home from the moment she was taken in that raid those seven year earlier.

Candle had hesitated on briefly, before simply asking for water for the horse and a bit of dried meat for herself; Impeccata had brought provisions with her, but Candle had gracefully refused the shares she offered. Were the trek not so urgent, she would have requested to put the horse up for the night and rest, but it was not to be- and everyone knew it. With Avaric straddling the thin line between this world and the next, it was so important that she continue on.

Traper had granted her request, giving her meat and water, as well as enough provisions to get both girls through the journey before beckoning a young woman forward. Both girls recognized her; Nastoya, Traper's youngest sister, and a fine rider in her own right. The girl had nodded quickly, hurriedly climbing onto her horse and joining them. Candle had watched, glancing at Impeccata briefly before realizing what was happening.

An envoy.

Each of the tribes had sent an envoy on this mission; a representative from each of the three tribes of what the whites now called the Vinkus- this wild, untamed land of warriors and tribesmen, pagan gods and rituals. And though the whites would look down at them for being women, the tribes knew the value of a woman- women carried the blood; it was within their bodies that children grew, from their most sacred of places that new life was expelled. Women kept not just the fires going, but the tribes going; they were seen as the living embodiment of the goddesses, to be worshiped and honored.

And the fact that the Arjiki's _princess_ had been taken- for despite the color of her skin, she was still to be honored and worshiped like women born of the tribe, for she had borne of her husband's seeds three beautiful children, she had brought life back to the tribe after the death of the Chief's wife and daughter- meant that the greatest slight in tribal law had been committed. It was true that the Scrow were deemed radical in the ways of warfare, attacking wagon trains that passed through their lands, but they, as a tribe, had a right to be; it was true that the Yunamata sought to bargain with the trains that came through their lands, and were seen by other tribes as slightly weaker; and yes, it was true that the Arjiki were a people of peace, who wished for nothing more than to be simply left alone, to worship and live in peace, only fighting when needed, but it was also true in that _you do not steal from the Arjiki._

For the Arjiki, like the mythical dragon that lay within the center of Mother Earth, once awakened, could do major damage if they so chose. But Avaric was known for keeping peace, not just among the tribes, but with the white man, by keeping his tribe as far from them as possible. Only once before, had there been another white captive living within the tribe- but that had been long ago, before Candle had been born, and his disappearance had long since been forgotten. It was said that he had died, that he had been stolen back by the whites, that he had died not long after returning to their world, but no one was entirely sure. Eventually, it had become nothing more than a legend, told around the campfires- the mythical white that had preceded their princess, but had most likely never existed to begin with.

Eventually, the three young women had crossed into white territory, under the cover of darkness, just before the rising dawn, they had passed Fort Restwater, unaware that they had passed another horse, with two riders upon it, a young woman in a calico dress, seated before a young man in white's clothes, an elaborate pattern of green, Arjiki tattoos upon his face. They had passed in the early morning before dawn, two ships in the darkness, that would only connect once Candle returned from her mission.

Now though, she turned to both Nastoya and Impeccata; they sat in the outskirts of the town the whites called Nest Hardings; the small cabin Frexpar Thropp had built for his broken family not far, just cross the wheat field before them. _"Aspetta, devo andarla a prendere. La principessa mi conosce, verrà a parlarmi."_ Both women nodded, staying back, as Candle slowly, gently, urged the horse forward with a soft nicker. Eventually, sh reached the front porch, and hesitated. The horse whinied, the noise bringing the four remaining members of the family onto the porch. The teenager's mouth dropped, his eyes widening in surprise.

"It's a squaw!"

But Elphaba, recognition dawning, hurried down the steps, the white nightgown she wore rusting in the breeze, towards the horse she recognized, and the young woman atop it. It had been her horse, the one she had ridden on the days she'd gone with her husband into the grasslands, on the days he'd tried to teach her how to hunt- the beautiful rose grey with the feather she'd braided into its mane not long after her marriage had taken place, the horse she called _'Corvo'_ \- raven- for the tips of its main were a strong black, an oddity within the herd, and one that she swore fit perfectly, for she herself was the oddity among the tribe, with her milk white skin and black hair.

Candle slowly got down, coming around the horse to embrace her princess; Elphaba threw her arms around the teenager, relieved to see a member of her tribe. "Candle-" But she stopped, upon seeing the worry in the teenager's gaze. _"Cos'è?"_ She swallowed thickly, fear filling her heart. _"Candle! Mio marito? I miei figli?"_ The girl shook her head, one phrase softly escaping her lips.

 _"Il capo, la principessa."_

Elphaba's heart stopped briefly. _"P... Padre?"_

Candle nodded. _"Devi venire subito, principessa. Sono stato mandato a riportarti a casa."_

Elphaba glanced back at Shell, at Mr. and Mrs. Thropp, before making her decision. Without a word, she nodded, allowing Candle to climb back up first before joining her. Her arms slid around Candle's waist, and she glanced at Shell before the young woman nickered for the horse to turn around. Mrs. Thropp, as though awakening from a dream, suddenly rushed down the steps as the horse took off, following the two horses ahead of it. Her cry cut through the still air of the morning, jarring those who heard it, but none looked back.

 _"No! Wait! You can't take her! She's my daughter! Sophelia!"_


	48. Chapter 48

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

They stopped by the river's edge; gently, Tibbett helped her down.

That morning, as everyone else slept, they had quickly gotten dressed, and Nessa had written a note to her parents. She'd taken a few pieces of hardtack and some dried meat for the journey, before going to the stable and releasing one of the horses. Without a word, she and Tibbett had slipped out, disappearing into the night, headed for the Thousand Year Grasslands, and his tribe. Unbeknownst to them, along the way, they'd passed an envoy of three riders- a young woman from each of the three tribes- sent to fetch Nessa's sister and bring her home, for the chief's death was imminent.

Now, though, she watched as Tibbett knelt down, cupping his hands within the gentle rush of the river along the bank, and after a moment, she knelt beside him, glancing at him before putting her lips to his hands and drinking. The water was cool against her dry throat, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered why she had left, why she had so rashly fled the life she'd been so used to living the past near eighteen years. But then she quickly chided herself; she had left because she was in love, but it was more than that.

She wanted to help her husband- for though they were not married, and had only just started accepting the feelings they felt for each other, their actions that early morning in the barn felt more like a ceremony than any the white man could present, and so she considered them now husband and wife, for only men and women of married status joined as they had- find his tribe again, and perhaps, find her own home. Though what she had put in her letter was true- wherever Tibbett went, she would go, and as long as she was with him, she was home- she still wanted to help him return to his tribe, and perhaps, even meet the children her sister had borne, see the life her sister had lived these last seven years.

"Even now, you still know how to live off the land? You have been away from this world for so long, I'd have thought you'd forgotten it."

He shook his head. "An Arjiki can be away from his tribe for a hundred years, but the lessons they instill- to hunt, to fish, to survive- remain. As long as he can set foot in nature, he will always know how to survive."

She settled against him as they sat by the embankment, resting, for the next part of their journey would take hours, possibly another day, and they needed to rest. He slid his arms around her waist, holding her close. "You said last night that the Arjiki believe that everything comes from Mother Earth. Is that true?"

"Not just the Arjiki, but the Yunamata and Scrow believe as well. The Great Mother is responsible for the food we eat, the clothing we wear. She provides the animals we hunt, the berries we pick, the fish we catch, and in return, we use her gifts wisely, leave her as we found her; nothing goes to waste, for it can all be used. Each living thing possesses a spirit, and by using every part of that thing, we are thinking that animal, tree or river for giving themselves to sustain us."

She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "A spirit? So... the wood Papa used to build our house-"

"It too has a spirit, for it was once living. The whites believe that whatever land they land on is theirs to claim, that the earth is just a dead thing they can claim for their own, without any thought to the land or creatures themselves. But the tribes, we believe that everything- every single tree and creature, even right down to the smallest rock within the river, has a life, a spirit and a name, and we honor those." He kissed her softly before shifting, and reaching to remove her boots.

"What are you doing, Tibbett?"

Once her boots were off, he stood, getting up and helping her to her feet. Without a word, he moved behind her, sliding his hands down her sides and around her waist. "Close your eyes, Nessa."

"Why? Are you going to push me into the river?"

He chuckled softly. "Just close your eyes. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Feel my arms around you." He squeezed gently, and she giggled as he kissed her head. "Now listen."

"What am I listening for?"

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Just listen." They stayed silent for several minutes, before he next asked, "What do you hear?"

"The gurgling of the river. The breeze through the trees, the horse's hooves in the dirt."

"What else?"

She stopped, concentrating. "Birds, they're singing. And... insects."

"Good. Anything else?"

She started to shake her head, before stopping. "There's fish in the river. And..." She stopped, biting her lip.

"And?" Tibbett waited, knowing that she had heard it; knowing she'd heard what had taken him so long to hear.

"Something's beating. Like a heart... but... but it's... underground?" She opened her eyes, turning to him. "A heart, underground? Tibbett, that doesn't make sense."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he pulled her close. "Yes it does, Nessa. You hear the heart of Mother Nature- the Great Mother's heart always beats. It is continuous, because it beats for us, her children, who she provides for and cares for, as we care for her." He kissed her forehead. "You are thinking like the Arjiki now."

"I am?" A startled look flashed in her eyes, and he chuckled.

"You are. It took me many years to hear the Great Mother's heartbeat; it took you only a few moments. It took your sister even less time, I suspect. As long as we care for her, and thank her for the gifts she gives us, Great Mother's heartbeat will continue."

"It beats for us, as mine beats for you and yours beats for mine." He nodded at her simple conclusion. "Because she loves us, as we love each other." Another nod. A moment passed, before he kissed her forehead firmly and then pulled away.

"Put your boots back on, my love, we have a long journey ahead of us."


	49. Chapter 49

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _Day Five_

A flurry of excitement filled the air, though none could say from where it came. Perhaps from the West, on the river's shimmering surface. Or perhaps from the East, on the breeze. But whichever direction it chose, one thing was certain.

Something was coming.

Good or bad, something would happen today, and no one would be prepared when it did.

The sound of hoof-beats came upon the breeze, getting louder and closer, until everyone had gathered in the center of the village. Men, women and children, old and young alike, watched in surprise as a horse rode into the center of the village; it had been riding all night and into that early morning. Once it finally stopped, a young man got down, patting the horse's muzzle before helping his companion down.

Gasps could be heard through; the man possessed green diamonds- in a pattern similar to Sarima's, though he was dressed in white man's clothes, as was his companion. The commotion brought the Crown Prince and medicine woman from the Chief's tent; the shaman stayed to continue his ministrations. Fiyero didn't have to say a word, as the commotion died down. He scanned the others in the tribe, before slowly turning to the newcomers. The diamonds he recognized, because they were similar to his wife's, and after a moment, he made his way towards the man, not noticing the woman at his side. _"Chi sei? Perché sei venuto?"_

The newcomer studied the prince, a flash of recognition sparking in his gaze. _Fiyero._ So the little boy who'd followed him around for years, doing everything he'd done, had finally grown up; no longer scrawny child of seven or eight, but a strapping young man near twenty-two moons, the princess's husband, the father of her three children-

A moment passed, before he nodded to the younger man, acknowledging his status. _"Non mi riconosci, mio principe? Sei stata la mia ombra costante, per anni, finché non sono stata rubata dagli stessi bianchi che hanno rubato tua moglie."_

Fiyero's gaze narrowed in suspicion. _"Come osi parlare di mia moglie, quando è stato il tuo popolo a rubarla alla mia tribù!"_ He moved to strike the young man, but the woman darted between them.

 _"No!"_

The prince stopped, finally seeing the man's companion for the first time. She looked so similar to Elphaba-

 _Similar dark hair, same dark eyes, same small build and milky white skin-_ He shook his head. No, this was not his wife. This was the _wrong_ white. She may have looked like his wife, but she was younger that Elphaba, her skin lighter than his wife's had been when she'd been stolen, for her time in the sun had slowly darkened her skin to a soft tan. It had not hid the whiteness beneath, but it had lessened it some, not that Fiyero or anyone else in the tribe cared. She was still beautiful, still Arjiki.

 _"Chi sei?"_

She turned to the man, not understanding, and after a moment, he translated for her. It was this realization that the man spoke both languages that stopped everyone, but the name he spoke that brought Sarima to Fiyero's side. "Nessarose. _Questo è_ Nessarose _."_

 _"E tu?"_

The man swallowed softly, his gaze flicking to the older woman at Fiyero's side. "Tibbett, _il mio principe_."

A startled murmur soon broke out; but Fiyero ignored it. He studied the older man, noting the little differences in his appearance. But Sarima, standing by Fiyero's side, choked on a cry, covering her mouth with her hands. She shook her head, even though the diamonds on his face spoke the truth. _"No! No, figlio mio... mio figlio è morto... Rubato... strappato dalle mie braccia dai bianchi stessi... molte, molte lune fa..."_

Tibbett pulled away from Nessa, going towards Sarima, slowly, cautiously, his voice soft, even, so as not to startle her. _"Tredici anni fa, mamma. Centosessantanove lune. Ho contato ogni luna come è passata, ho contato gli anni che sono passati, e ho pregato che tu non mi dimenticassi. Ho pregato, per tredici anni, che tu ti ricordi di me, ricorda il ragazzo bianco che hai adottato come tuo, che amavi come tuo, e che ti amava, e che ti ama ancora, nonostante le molte lune che sono passate e mi hanno tenuto lontano dalla mia tribù , dalla mia famiglia. Ti prego, mamma, ti ricordi di me?"_ He stopped before her, not reaching for her, doing nothing but waiting; waiting for Sarima to look at him, to reach for him. Slowly, Sarima did, looking up at the young man before her, studying him, drinking in his features.

He had gotten older, yes, but so had she. The years had been as kind as they could to him, though he wore the lines of loss and heartbreak deep around his eyes; eyes that had cried many, many tears for the loss of his family, his tribe. Her gaze flicked over each diamond, still fresh as the day they had been done, and slowly, she reached up, brushing her fingers against the diamonds on his cheek. She remembered the pattern, remembered the fear in his voice as the shaman had brought out the needles, how he'd clung to her hand as the ritual had started. Something in his eyes sparked, something she recognized; a glimmer of that little boy who had come running to embrace her many a time, who had climbed into bed with her when he suffered a nightmare, who had clung to her the day the whites had come and ripped him from her arms.

 _"Madre, per favore."_

It came back to her like an earthquake; his screams for her as he was dragged from the tent, thrown onto a horse and taken away; those screams that echoed in her memory to this very day, calling her, reaching for her across the years. _"Madre! Madre!"_

Tears slid down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob. _"Tibbett. My son. Oh, my son!"_

She engulfed him in her arms, holding him against her, fresh tears racing down her cheeks as he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms going tight around her, finally, reunited with the woman who had been his mother from the moment he arrived in the tribe, after all these years. Nessa, Fiyero and the rest of the tribe watched as mother and son were reunited after so many moons apart. Tears slid down Nessa's cheeks as she glanced at Fiyero, the man who was her brother-in-law, as her own words rang loud in her head, the truth of them standing before her.

 _A mother never forgets her child._


	50. Chapter 50

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She sat among the furs of the bed, gaze going about the tent. After Sarima and Tibbett's reunion, she had been brought to Sarima's tent, left to wait, while the medicine woman and her son conversed with the prince. It was evident that Fiyero did not trust Tibbett, but he trusted Sarima, and it was on Sarima's judgement he was relying.

 _He has even less trust in you, because you are of the people who stole his wife away._

Slowly, she let her gaze wander around the tent. Had her sister slept in a tent similar to this one, the past seven years? Was there a fire pit in the center of it, with furs laid out, to keep them warm, like in this one? This tent was certainly big enough for at least two, it would not surprise her if the tent her sister lived in was probably the same size or a little bigger. _She has given birth to three children, after all. Children tend to take up space._

The tent flap opened slightly, and she looked up. Three small heads poked through the opening, wide eyes watching her. She smiled softly. "Hello. Who are you?" The children, two boys and a girl, all around the ages of five and below, stayed silent, watching the white woman in her funny dress and boots. Something about them seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn't say exactly what it was. "My name is Nessa-"

A stern voice caused all three children to jump, and they all looked up as the flap fully lifted and the prince appeared, stern blue eyes narrowed. He said something in Arjiki that she didn't understand, and after several minutes and a stern glare from the prince, the three slowly left, but not before a soft, _"Papa!"_ could be heard, and Nessa started.

They were the prince's children. And if they were the _prince's_ children, then _that_ meant-

 _They are your sister's children. Those are the babies your sister birthed; those are the babies she carried inside her, that she and her husband created not long after her arrival in the tribe. They are your nephews and niece. Oh, God, they're beautiful._

She looked up as the prince, Sarima and Tibbett entered the tent, the flap falling softly behind them. Tibbett stayed by Sarima's side, glancing at her occasionally. His return had caused a stir in the encampment, and it would only become greater; for many in the tribe, he was a myth; unlike Elphaba, whom everyone knew because they often saw her, Tibbett had been within the white man's world for thirteen years. When he'd been stolen away, many of the younger generation were either children, toddlers or babies, or had not even been conceived yet. For the next several weeks, until everything died down, he would be on display, which was part of the reason he stuck so close to Sarima; partially to get reacquainted with the woman who had raised him, but also to lessen the hushed whispers. But here, in the tent, it was evident that _she_ was on display, and so she lifted her chin. If she was going to be on display for them, then they would be on display for her.

A moment passed, before Fiyero spoke, studying her. _"Sei simile a mia moglie, in tanti modi-"_

Nessa glanced at Tibbett who sighed. "You and Elphaba look alike-"

She scoffed. "Of course we look alike! We're siblings! I'm her little sister!"

Tibbett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nessa, _please_."

The woman huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You separated me from my husband, why? What was the reason to? Did you bring me into this tent for a _reason_? Or just so you can gawk at me like a trio of children?"

Silence settled between the quartet, startled silence, before eventually, Sarima spoke up, turning to both men. "Leave us. _Vorrei parlarle_ alone." A moment passed, before Tibbett did as instructed, going to Nessa and kissing her head before leaving. The prince, however, merely crossed his arms. _"Vorrei parlarle da solo, Fiyero. Ci sono alcune cose che dobbiamo capire l'una dell'altra. Ora vai."_ Still he refused to budge. _"Ora."_

The sharpness in her voice caused the young prince to sigh and silently turn on his heel, glaring at Nessa before he stepped out of the tent. It was very, very evident that Fiyero did not like her, and honestly, she couldn't blame him. God only knew what he'd suffered since Elphaba's capture. And having to raise their children by himself, even if only for a few days... plus the strain of caring for the entire tribe...

 _No wonder he was so sharp with his children. He is dealing with a lot._

Pulled from her thoughts by soft crackling, she looked up, watching as Sarima gently poked the fire before taking a seat across from her, not far away. It was suddenly warmer in the tent, though she still pulled one of the furs around her. Now that they sat not far apart, Nessa could see the blue diamonds that sparked in the firelight. The pattern and color were different- indicating Sarima having been born within the tribe- but they were so similar, that Nessa now understood why it was so easy to identify the older woman, why Tibbett hadn't hesitated at all when he'd announced his appearance in the center of the village today.

Minutes passed, before finally, Sarima spoke,

"You wish to marry my son?"

Nessa started, surprised the woman spoke English, though Tibbett had said something on the journey over that Sarima had learned English from a fur trader who'd come through and done constant business with the tribe when she was a child and had picked up the language that way, but then met the older woman's gaze. She nodded. "Yes. We are in love."

Sarima studied the teenager for a moment, eyes narrowing. While she was grateful that the young woman had brought her son back to her, she did not trust that what she said was true. "Your people _stole_ Elphaba from us, as you _stole_ my son. Your people have always come with ill intentions towards my people. We do not take _kindly_ to whites who come with trickery in their hearts."

Nessa shook her head, reaching out for the woman. "No trickery, I promise. _Please_." She stopped, taking a deep breath, pressing a hand to her heart. "I have nothing but love for Tibbett in mine."


	51. Chapter 51

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Fiyero did not trust Nessa, nor did he trust Tibbett, even though he was clearly Sarima's son. They had argued, Fiyero refusing to acknowledge Tibbett as Sarima's son, Tibbett pleading with the prince to see reason. But Fiyero was not up for seeing reason; not when his wife was captive of the whites, and his father was straddling the line between this world and the next. He was not up for seeing reason at all.

 _"Fiyero, please!"_ The prince stopped, midway to his father's tent. _"Dov'è il bambino che mi seguiva quando andavo a caccia? Il ragazzino che mi chiedeva di raccontargli storie a tarda notte, vicino al falò? Cos'è successo al ragazzo che mi ha detto che sono stato fortunato ad essere adottato da Sarima, perché allora avevo almeno una madre? Fiyero!"_

Each thing Tibbett said sparked a memory deep within; in his heart, he knew what the translator said was true, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. He had too much to focus on, too much to worry about, to keep track of one, minor insignificant detail such as memories. He had a tribe to look after, three children to raise, and his father-

" _Eri la cosa più vicina a un fratello,_ Fiyero. So much so that I used to call you my _'little brother', remember?_ " Tibbett moved to block his path, hoping against hope the prince would see reason. "And with our marriages, _siamo fratelli ora_."

Fiyero's blue gaze moved to meet Tibbett's. _"Sposato? Vuoi sposarti?"_

He shook his head, moving past the man, but Tibbett, who could be just as stubborn as Fiyero, wouldn't let him off that easily. He grabbed his arm, causing the man to turn back. " _Con la tua benedizione._ I have already asked Mother, and she _voluto parlare con_ Nessa before making her decision. _Ma agli occhi della Grande Madre_ we are already married. In the barn of the Thropp residence."

Fiyero met his gaze, something sparking within the depths of his blue eyes, as he realized what the man meant. _"Le hai rubato la virtù, l'hai portata a sentire contro la sua volontà..."_

Tibbett shook his head quickly. "No! Not stolen, Fiyero. Taken willingly, as I have given her mine." He sighed, realizing he hadn't changed languages at all, so desperate for him to understand. _"Preso volentieri, come ho dato il suo."_

Silence settled between the two men, silence that stretched on like the river that sustained the tribe. They studied each other; Tibbett saw the strain Elphaba's disappearance had taken up him- not only had it strained Elphaba to be away from her tribe, but it had strained Fiyero to lose her in such a way. He carried the guilt of having not been able to do anything, of watching as she was snatched from the very ground they themselves stood on, as she was stolen away in broad daylight, carried back to the white man's world, away from her family, her tribe. He carried the guilt of having been unable to stop them, of not having protected her better, when there was nothing he could have done. And he saw the pain of raising three children alone, of having to care for his tribe, but there was something else. Something Fiyero refused to say, though it was clearly eating at him with every passing moment. Though before he could ask, a voice broke through the silence.

 _"Tibbett!"_

Over Fiyero's shoulder, he could see Sarima making her way towards them; suddenly, Nessa threw her arms around him, sending him stumbling back slightly. He managed to regain his balance, wrapping his arms around her waist instinctively. Sarima watched silently as she joined Fiyero, who turned to glance at the medicine woman. After a moment, Tibbett released Nessa, who took his hands. "What was that for?"

The teenager glanced over her shoulder at Sarima, before turning back to the translator. "We have her blessing to be married, my love."

Tibbett started, surprise filling his gaze as he glanced at his adoptive mother. To say he was surprised his mother had given her blessing was an understatement; he fully expected Sarima to go against the union, especially considering that Nessa was Elphaba's little sister, but apparently, it was the exact opposite. " _Madre_ , why?"

Without a word, Sarima went to them, reaching up and taking his face in her hands. She studied the young man, searching for and finding the little boy she'd adopted those twenty years ago. She had mourned for the child stolen before it even drew its first breath from her womb, prayed for a child to end her heartbreak at the loss and been given a little boy to raise and love in answer to it, loved him and watched him grow like any mother would, and then cruelly had him snatched from her very arms thirteen years ago; she'd gone so long without knowing if her son was dead or alive, if he had married and started a family, if he still thought of her, and to finally have him back- and all thanks to a white woman; the sister of their princess, no less- after so long apart...

She could afford to give him the blessing to marry the girl he'd so clearly fallen in love with, the girl who had brought him home. "Because you are happy with her, _mio figlio_. And she brought you home to me." She kissed his forehead, holding him close for several minutes, before pulling away.

"Will I have a new name, now that I have joined the tribe? And diamonds, like yours and Elphaba's?"

Everyone turned to Nessa, who, in her innocence, spoke with a giddiness Tibbett could not fault, but that annoyed Fiyero's already frayed nerves. The prince studied the girl, shaking his head in annoyance. _"Non si ricevono diamanti perché hanno cercato gli Arjiki."_

Nessa turned to Tibbett, who sighed, squeezing Sarima's hand before going to Nessa and pulling her close. "A new name is not given for arriving at the tribe." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. "One must either be adopted or marry into the tribe. That is how they receive both the diamonds and the name. It is how we ensure they are safe from harm. For Elphaba, when she married Fiyero, it was to ensure she was under the Arjiki's protection."

A brow furrowed. "Protection?"

"Sicuro dal commercio o dal furto." Fiyero replied, the last words stinging his throat.

"It is not uncommon for a captive to be traded or stolen to another tribe, and then be traded or stolen back from that tribe. Your sister was married to ensure that she would not fall back into Scrow hands."

"Oh." Something niggled in the back of her mind. "Why the Scrow?"

Sarima glanced at both Tibbett and Nessa, before moving past towards the tent; Fiyero followed close behind. They watched both go before he turned back to her. "Because a woman like your sister- especially when she was first taken- is young and supple. She can bear many children over the years. A captive such as her, especially one as pretty as her, would hold the eye of any man, but _especially_ the Chief of a tribe. So when she arrived at the Arjiki, Chief Avaric had her marry Fiyero immediately, so her chances of being stolen again would disappear. For you do not steal from the Arjiki and-"

"Expect to get away with it." She finished, now understanding what he meant by such a phrase. After several moments, Tibbett turned, hurrying to the tent behind them, Nessa following behind. They slipped inside, to find both Fiyero and Sarima knelt beside Avaric, as the shaman worked on him. "What's wrong?"

Tibbett glanced at her. "It's the chief-"

 _"Sta morendo."_ Sarima whispered, dabbing water against his forehead as Fiyero held tight to his father's hand. Nessa turned to him, confused. Tibbett swallowed.

"He is straddling the worlds, waiting for your sister to return."

"I don't understand, Tibbett? What does that mean?"

He glanced at her, worry in his gaze. "It means he's dying."


	52. Chapter 52

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

They stopped to rest, by the banks of the river; darkness had started to fall, and the horses were tired. As the three girls set up camp, Elphaba wandered to the river's edge, kneeling down to dip her hands in the water. In the rising moonlight, she caught sight of her reflection, and stopped. The woman who stared back at her shifted, going from a white man's gown to a buckskin dress, her hair pulled back in tight, thick braids over each shoulder, white feathers in her black hair.

Her gaze quickly flicked towards the girls, all dressed in their buck-skinned dresses and moccasins. The people of Nest Hardings had called the people of the Thousand Year Grasslands 'savages'- a term for people who were 'uncivilized', in their view- in other words, people not like them. People who lived in tents and off the land, using all the Great Mother provided and thanking her for her sacrifice, people who worshiped many gods as opposed to one, who dressed in the softest of buckskin and tattooed their skin like her tribe, or pierced their noses and lips like the Scrow, or who split their tongues and sliced slightly into the corners of their mouths like the Yunamata were considered savages by the whites. They believed themselves to be the superior race, yet their practices were perhaps more savage than the tribes could ever think of being.

Her gaze turned back to the river, to the girl staring back at her in the buckskin dress. The girl who stared back at her knew her place in her tribe; wife, mother, daughter. She was secure in her place in the tribe, loved by all, but especially her husband and children. She was fluent in Arjiki, was learning the ways of the medicine woman, learning to hunt, so that she could be a warrior in her own right; she was so much more than a woman. A woman in the white world had one role- wife and mother, but in the 'savage' world, a woman was so much more than that.

A woman was worshiped, for being the living embodiment of the Great Mother, for being able to carry and birth children, and therefore keep the tribe going for her ability to carry and bear new life. She was sacred, loved, as important as any man. And her, being the daughter-in-law of the chief, the wife of the Crown Prince, the mother of the future chief...

A moment passed, before the flow of the river shifted the image; her reflection changed, shifting to someone she didn't recognize. It was still her, but older; her long black hair was still pulled back in thick braids, there were four feathers in each, but on her face was a piercing. A single piercing, in the dip between her nose and upper lip, signifying her status as the chieftess- as Fiyero's mate. It was the only piercing the Arjiki allowed; when a man became chief, his wife became the chieftess, his partner in the well-being of the tribe.

 _The day Fiyero becomes chief, he will receive a tattoo and you a piercing._

And this woman that stared back at her-

Drops fell into the river, causing the image to dissolve before her, leaving her own reflection in its wake. She looked up as the rain continued to fall, coming faster and faster, until a downpour had started, and after a moment, she turned at Candle's voice. _"Principessa! Fretta!"_

Standing, she hurried to join the girls within the small alcove created by a small cluster of trees near the river's bank. Once within the shelter, the young Scrow rider wrapped a fur around her shoulders, bowing slightly to her, and Elphaba nodded in return. As they settled down to rest and wait out the rain, Elphaba let her gaze wander over the two other women. One was clearly Scrow, and the other, Yunamata.

 _"I tuoi nomi?"_

The girls shared a glance, before each spoke, partially surprised the princess was addressing them directly. "Ah.. _Nastoya del Scoria, Principessa_."

Elphaba nodded, noticing the small stones within her lips and nose. Nastoya. The last time she had seen Nastoya, the girl had been a child of nine moons when she had been when she'd been captured and taken to the Scrow camp. The girl had grown up extentially since that time; now a young woman of sixteen moons. She had clearly received her piercings upon reaching womanhood, and had grown into a beauty. A moment passed, before she turned to the other girl, who nodded quickly.

"Im... _Impeccata, principessa. Della Yunamata."_

The princess nodded; she could see the slight scarring at the corners of her mouth, indicating the ritual cutting into the corners of her mouth once she hit a certain age. She could also see the split of her tongue when she spoke, one of the other rituals those in the Yunamata received upon reaching a certain age. The girl was a couple moons older than herself, for she'd been a teenager when Elphaba had arrived at the Arjiki.

Silence settled between the four young women, and Elphaba took that time to study each girl in silence. Both Nastoya and Candle still retained some of their girlhood, but Impeccata, Elphaba knew, had been married and borne at least one child before she herself had married Fiyero. She knew this simply because the last time Liir had sent an envoy to the Arjiki in regards to trade, Impeccata had come with her infant daughter balanced on her hip and a mild swell within her belly. Elphaba herself had been heavily pregnant with Irji at the time. The pains of her labor had started three days after the Yunamata had come to discuss trade and returned to their tribe; Impeccata had given birth to another little girl four months later. She had then borne three more children- another girl, which had died during the birth- and two boys, born two years apart.

The two women shared a glance, a thousand conversations passing between them. After several minutes, she turned her gaze back to the opening of the alcove, letting herself focus on the rain until it slowly lulled her to sleep.


	53. Chapter 53

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Unlike Elphaba's marriage to Fiyero, Nessa's marriage to Tibbett was simple.

Sarima and a couple of the other women had helped her dress; she shed the calico dress and undergarments she'd worn in her world like a snake shedding its skin, allowed the women to help her into perhaps the softest buckskin dress she'd ever worn and a pair of moccasins. She'd then sat still as one of the women had undone her braids and brushed them out before pulling them into a tight, single braid down her back, weaving a single black feather into it. Unlike Elphaba, who's thick twin braids had boasted two feathers each, interwoven with ribbons of dyed blue rope, signifying the high status her marriage would bring, Nessa's hair adornment signified her status as the wife of the future medicine man- a status not as high as her sister's but high in its own right.

Her face was then done in traditional wedding paint. The different colors and designs signified the status that the bride would take upon her marriage- for Elphaba, the area just below her eyebrows to the middle of her nose and over her eyes had been painted blue, where the blue stopped down over her nose to her upper lip was painted green, and then from the middle of her lower lip and down into a triangle over her nose was painted white, with four white dots going from big to small running vertical down her forehead and above her eyebrows, signified that she was marrying into royalty. And against her thick black hair, it had made her stand out all the more.

As for her sister, Nessa's would be much more simple- a streak of red over her eyes, from below her eyebrows to the end of the bridge of her nose, with four white streaks- one down the middle of her forehead, one each at the top of her cheekbones and one down the center of her chin, starting beneath her lower lip- and signify that she was the future medicine man's bride. Once the paint was added, she opened her eyes, looking up to find Sarima standing over her. The older woman knelt down before her, unwrapping a cloth; inside, were a belt made of soft leather and stones, which she wrapped around the girl's waist, a necklace woven of rope and stone, and a light leather wrap, with a beautiful design of blue and white beads upon the back.

Nessa glanced up at the woman, who nodded softly, gently draping the wrap about her shoulders. "These belonged to my mother, which she wore upon her wedding day, and I wore upon mine. Arjiki tradition states the next bride of the medicine bride wears them upon her marriage."

"Medicine bride?" Nessa asked, reaching up to brush her fingers over the soft leather; it was perhaps softer than the buckskin she wore.

"In every generation, there is a medicine bride- be it they who practice the ways of medicinal healing, or who marries the one who practices. They are known as the medicine brides. Different to shaman. The shaman can heal, yes, but he is more strong in the ways of walking the worlds and contacting the spirits."

"So Tibbett-"

"Tibbett shall take over the medicines when I deem it time. He is already strong in the ways of medicine, I suspect my son has kept up his learning in his many moons away from our tribe." A wistful look came over Sarima's features.

"He told me had once been training to become a warrior-"

"Every young boy, upon reaching thirteen moons, learns the ways of the warriors; it is a tradition that extends to all males of the tribe. He was about ready to go through his Time of Solace when he was stolen from me."

Nessa furrowed a brow. "Ah... time of solace?"

"Every warrior must go through a Time of Solace; he spends a week in the grasslands alone, surviving off of his training, when he returns at the end of the week, he is considered a man."

"A rite of passage?" Nessa finally concluded, and Sarima nodded. "Do the women-"

"No. The women's role is much more sacred. It is women who keep the lines going; we are the living embodiment of the goddesses, of the Great Mother, carrying and bringing forth life from our husband's seeds, ensuring the tribe will continue. The princess had, though it scared her the first time, but by the time the last babe burst forth from her womb, she no longer feared her role. She was a strong woman, the princess, she did not let her fear of this life frighten her away. Her skin may be of the white man's world, but her heart and soul is of the Arjiki. She was destined to be with the Arjiki, destined to live with the tribe, the Great Mother foresaw it, many moons ago, before she was born."

Nessa's mind went back to the three children she'd seen earlier in the day, after first arriving. Her heart constricted.

 _Destined to be with the Arjiki, the Greta Mother foresaw it, before she was born._

So her sister was always meant to be here; her capture on the wagon trail that day in the grasslands was no accident. It was foreseen, prophesied. But if her life with the Arjiki was foreseen, what of her capture by the whites?

"Come." She looked up, torn from her thoughts as Sarima stood, helping her to her feet. "Night has fallen, the rain has lessened, it is time for you marry my son."

Taking a deep breath, Nessa lifted the flap of the tent and stepped out into the firelight, slowly making her way towards Tibbett, who was also dressed in Arjiki buckskin. It startled her briefly, to see him not in the white man's clothes, but once she got over the surprise, she relaxed, realizing she preferred him in buckskin to the clothes of the white man.

The ceremony seemed to pass quickly- or so it seemed to Nessa- and before she knew it, the shaman was rubbing ash in a streak along her forehead and Tibbett's, before taking a red ochre and brush it over her lower lip. _"La Grande Madre ha benedetto questo matrimonio."_ He took their hands, placing them together and binding them with a rope, similar to when Elphaba had married Fiyero. And, like Elphaba before her, the shaman shook the sacred staff over her head, the beads rattling together.

 _"La Grande Madre vi ha proclamato di essere Mulhama- Figlia del Fiume."_

Nessa glanced at Tibbett, who mouthed, _Daughter of the River_.

She nodded in understanding, before letting him pull her close, for the shaman had indicated he could kiss her. They locked eyes for a couple moments. _"Ciao, mia moglie."_ She grinned softly, not understanding the words, but understanding the tone.

"Hello, my husband."

Their lips met in a soft kiss; but they were soon interrupted by the sound of hoof-beats entering the encampment. The pair broke apart and turned; everyone's attention was brought to the three horses standing in the firelight, four riders atop them. Sarima instantly recognized the two on either side- a Scrow and Yunamata rider, and Candle sat atop the middle horse, but there was someone sitting behind her, their arms wrapped around Candle's waist. Fiyero stepped forward as the riders disembarked, but it wasn't the three young women everyone's gaze lit on.

It was the woman being helped down from Candle's horse, dressed in a white nightdress from the white man's world. Barefoot, hair down, she stepped into the firelight, gaze darting around at everyone before her. No one spoke for several minutes, until a child darted through the crowd. _"Madre! Madre!"_ Suddenly, two other children rushed forward, and she knelt on instinct, accepting the royal children into her embrace, tears flowing freely down her cheeks and clogging her voice.

 _"Oh, figli miei! I miei bambini! Oh, miei bellissimi bambini!"_

The oldest boy turned back in his mother's embrace as his father came forward, not believing what he was seeing. _"Papa! Papa! Mamma è tornata a casa! Mamma è tornata a casa!"_


	54. Chapter 54

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Well, that's one way to crash a wedding...** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

He had to be seeing things. There was no way this was possible.

His blue gaze watched as she kissed each of her children repeatedly, before looking up at him and standing. She moved past them, making her way towards her husband. Their gazes locked, and after a moment, she reached for him, before pulling back. _"Yero."_

It was as soft as the buckskin of her favorite dress, as warm as the breeze on a summer day, sweeter than the darkest blackberries and as steady as the steadiest beating drum. And it was all he needed to hear before he grabbed her roughly about the waist and pulled her into his embrace, studying her dark gaze, as though waking from a dream. _"Fabala?"_

She nodded. _"Si, mio marito."_

It was all the reassurance he needed before he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his in a deep, defining kiss. His hands slid down her sides, over the curves of her hips, and, despite being separated by the nightgown, he could still feel the softness of her, that had been shaped during her pregnancies and after the births of their children.

He tasted as she remembered, of cooking fires and soft furs and rain, and smelled of home, love and laughter. When he finally released her with a soft kiss, he rested his forehead to hers. _"Papà ti sta aspettando."_

She looked up at him, worry in her eyes. _Is it true?_

He nodded, fear filling his gaze. He took her hand, tugging her forward, as the children rushed to join them. Others in the tribe nodded to her, softly welcoming her back, and she nodded in return, not noticing her sister in the shadows of the fire, her attention on Avaric as Fiyero led her into the tent. The young couple shared a glance before following, stopping at the entrance and peeking through the flap.

Once by his side, Elphaba crumpled to her knees, reaching out and taking Avaric's hand, holding it against her cheek. _"P... Padre..."_ His blue eyes opened, shifting to take in the sight of his daughter-in-law, returned to their tribe, despite being dressed in the clothes of the whites. _"Sono qui, Padre... I'...m... h..e...re..."_ She stumbled over the English, forgetting that only Sarima knew the other language. _"Padre..."_

Avaric's gaze lit on Elphaba, a spark of recognition coming across his face. _"Mia figlia."_

 _"Ti stava aspettando, Principessa."_ Elphaba looked up at the shaman, afraid to speak. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Avaric, who's fingers gently, slowly, caressed her cheek.

 _"Non passerà nel mondo successivo finché non sarai tornato al tuo posto legittimo, Principessa."_ She turned to Sarima, who stood beside Fiyero; over her shoulder, she could see a pair watching in the shadows, and for the briefest of moments, wondered who they were. A moment passed, before she turned back to Avaric, before pressing a firm kiss to his hand, and releasing him, for she could see that he was becoming tired. Fiyero helped her to her feet and they followed Sarima out of the tent; the rest of the village watched, waiting for word on their chief. Glancing at her husband, she then turned to Sarima, biting her lip.

" _Il mio posto è..._ my... p... la...ce... is..."

"With the tribe," She turned, as the woman stepped out of the shadows. Dressed in wedding garb, her face and hair done up in traditional wedding paint, it took a few moments before she realized that she was staring at her little sister. So this was where Nessa had gone the day she'd disappeared with Tibbett. She'd come to her sister's tribe-

She looked more the savage that Elphaba did when she was brought from Fort Restwater to the Thropp house. Perhaps better. The sisters studied each other, silent in their observations. And it amazed them both, how quickly one sister could trade one life for the other.

"Just... li... ke... you... ur... p... pla...ce is with... Ma... Mama and... P... Papa... Ne...ssa." She countered in shaky English. The younger girl smiled sadly at her.

"No more. That is not my name anymore. I am," She glanced at Sarima, making sure she got the pronunciation right. "Mu...lha...ma... _Mulhama_. And I want nothing of that life. I want a life _I_ choose, not one chosen for me." She turned to Tibbett, taking his hand. Sarima smiled softly at her son, returned to her finally, after all these years, and now married to the young woman who was so willing to runaway from her family for him and the tribe her sister belonged to. "You will not be happy in Nest Hardings, Elphaba," The older girl looked up at the name; Mrs Thropp had made it clear she was not to respond to that name- her 'savage' name anymore, but to Sophelia, her birth name, her _white_ name. "Because you're not connected to it. Your _soul_ is Arjiki. You were destined for the Arjiki, you have always been destined for the Arjiki."

She turned back to Fiyero, who could see the turmoil in her soul. She watched him, silent. With Avaric's impending passing, Fiyero became the Chief, and she, were she still with the tribe, his Chieftess. _He will be a good Chief, a fair one, your husband._

But his father had not passed over, most likely would not pass over, now that she was returned, and for now, he was merely a prince, desperate for the return of his princess.

Sensing the struggle raging in her heart, the prince went to his wife, grabbing her by the arms. _"Fabala, ricordati. Ricordati. Ricordate la nostra vita, la nostra tribù, i nostri figli. Ricordati di noi."_ He reached up, caressing her cheek, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. _"Torna da me, mia moglie. Ti amo. Non posso governare la nostra tribù da solo."_

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, and he took this as an opportunity to kiss her deeply, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his body, her supple curves sliding against his hard planes with ease. Everyone watched as their prince kissed his wife, silently begging her to remember. She seemed to give into the kiss for several minutes, before something in her brain seemed to short circuit, and she shoved him away, even as he reached to grab her.

 _"No!"_

Without another word, she pushed through the others, grabbing the reigns from Candle and climbing atop her horse. With a nicker, she turned the animal, spiriting away into the night, away from the village, back towards Nest Hardings and the Thropps, the confusion in her soul chasing after.


	55. Chapter 55

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Town of Nest Hardings,_

 _Munch Territory,_

 _Thropp Household,_

 _Day Six_

Shell looked up from his book; the sound of hoof-beats alerting him to someone's arrival. Mama and Papa had gone into town; Shell had opted to stay home. Being the last Thropp child, with both his sisters gone, Shell felt it his duty to stay home now, mainly so his mother wouldn't have a complete meltdown when she returned home.

But as he stepped onto the porch in the mid-morning hours of what would have been the sixth day of his oldest sister's deal, he was surprised to find not his parents returning to town, but his oldest sister climbing down from a horse, still in her nightgown. He was confused, to say the least. "Ah... Elpha... Sopha... Fae?"

She started at the name, as did he, for he had no idea where it had come from. He'd been struggling to figure out what to call her; she'd insisted on being called by her tribal name, but Mama had implemented a rule that she was no longer to go by that name anymore, but to go by her birth name. And Shell, being all kinds of confused, couldn't keep up. So 'Fae' seemed to be the compromise between the two. "What are you doing back?"

The older girl didn't say a word as she took the horse into the stable, fed it and watered it and then returned to the house, Shell on her heels. He followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom, shutting the door behind them. "I thought you had gone back to your tribe."

In a series of stuttering, broken English, frantic Arjiki and wild hand gestures, she managed to tell him of what had occurred, and the boy slowly sank onto the bed. "Wait... Nessa's married? To the translator?" She nodded, taking a seat beside him. "But... I don't understand... why did you come back? All you want is to be with your tribe-" But he stopped, upon seeing the look on her face. "You're confused." She didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. "You don't know where you belong anymore, do you?" A slight shake of the head. "So you came back, because..." He stopped, trying to work it out in his head. "You came back because you thought it would be better to trade one daughter for another, right?"

She shrugged, not understanding. He sighed. "Nessa married into the tribe, and you came back here, so that Mama and Papa would at least have one daughter, instead of losing two." A moment passed, before she slowly nodded. "You won't be happy here, Fae. I can see it already. You aren't happy, it's evident. You can't stay. You'll die if you do."

She opened her mouth to speak, when a voice called out. "Shell?"

Quickly, the boy hurried out of the room, his sister hurrying after him. They staggered to a stop on the stairs, and Melena choked on a sob. "Sophelia?" She hurried to the girl; Shell moved out of the way as his mother hurriedly embraced her daughter. The girl's gaze locked on her brother, and Shell watched as part of her soul began to fade away, at the mere mention of her white name. He loved his mother, he really did, but he loved his sisters more, despite the seven years his oldest had spent in the grasslands, and watching part of her soul die in that one glance was the deciding factor for the teenager. He'd make sure he helped her get back to her tribe, one way or another.

Counting today, they had two days left before her deal went into effect. He'd have to work at it, but he'd get her out of this life as soon as he could, before nightfall on the seventh day, he swore it.

As Melena took the girl into the kitchen, and his father took the horses to the stable, Shell skulked upstairs, heading to Nessa's. He remembered that at the beginning of the week, that Nessa had taken her sister's dress and moccasins and hidden them in her room. Now, he searched for the items, knowing that that was part of what would help his sister get back her soul. After rummaging around for several minutes, he found the items in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

He took a deep breath, carefully lifting out the items, cradling them gently in his lap. The material was soft; a deep, beautiful dark brown buckskin that felt as soft and smooth as freshly churned butter, the moccasins were decorated in beautiful bead work, and tucked within the folds of the dress, were four beautiful, delicate dove grey feathers, two leather strands with brightly colored beads at the ends, and a beautiful necklace of wood and stone.

 _How can anyone say they are savages? This clothing is beautiful... and I'm sure it's even more beautiful on her than it is now._

He looked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall, and quickly stood, shutting the drawer and hurrying from the room, the items clutched to his chest. He found his sister in the hall, and hurried to her. "Fae?" She looked up, her dark eyes dulled. That her eyes could lose such spark in the matter of a few short hours scared him.

 _She's dying. We both know it. We can both sense it. She came back for Mama and Papa, and because she's confused. She doesn't know where she belongs anymore. But maybe... maybe if she sees these... maybe her things will help her..._

Without a word, he held out her clothes, and she glanced at it, before turning and going into her room. Shell followed, to find her curled up on the bed, back to the door. "Fae?" She ignored him, and he rushed to the bed, setting her things gently on the nightstand before climbing onto the bed and leaning over her. She turned her head, looking up at him. A moment passed, before he lay down beside her, curling against her back and wrapping his arms around her waist, giving her his strength. Tears filled his eyes as he hugged his oldest sister.

He could feel her breathing start to slow, and feared the worst, only to discover she'd started to fall asleep. He kissed her shoulder, tears dripping down his cheeks. _I won't let you die, Fae. I'll help you get home. You're my sister, and I love you. I won't let you give up like this._

"I'll make sure you get back to your tribe, Fae. I _promise_."

In her sleep, she reached down, taking his hand and squeezing gently in a silent thank you.


	56. Chapter 56

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Night fell quickly on the sixth day.

At one point, Melena came up to check on her daughter, only to find her son curled up with his sister, sound asleep. A soft smile on her lips, she shut the door softly, not noticing the clothing upon the nightstand. They went to bed not long after suffer; their two remaining children still sound asleep upstairs.

The soft laughter of the river awoke her, and she slowly lifted her head, to find herself curled up on the bank of the river. Sitting up, she looked around; she had gotten used to walking between worlds by now, but even so, it startled her on occasion. After a moment, she stood, keeping quiet and listening for the distant beat of drums or the crackle of a fire. But she heard nothing, and after several minutes, she began walking.

Eventually, she came upon the encampment, but it was silent, and she went in search of someone. There was no one to be found. Her feet led her to her family's tent, and after a moment, she lifted the flap, poking her head in. _"Yero?"_

Someone sat among the furs, their back to her; long black hair tumbled down their back, and after a moment, she stepped inside, moving closer, reaching out. Her fingers brushed against the person's shoulder, and they turned, looking up at her. She gasped, stumbling back, landing on her backside and scuttling back, for she was staring at herself. Except, she was older, but not much older, perhaps a year or two. And now that she actually looked, it was glaringly obvious that the other her was heavily round with child. _"Chi sei?"_

The other one studied her, a smirk tugging at her lips. _"Aspettando nostro marito, sì?"_ She shook her head. _"Non è qui. È fuori a caccia, con gli altri. I bambini sono con gli amici; siamo troppo vicini all'arrivo della nostra bambina, è meglio che ci riposiamo."_ Her hands slowly moved over her belly, stroking gently in contemplation.

They sat in silence for several minutes; she let her gaze rove over the other version of her, drinking in every detail of the woman. The stone above her upper lip glimmered in the firelight, and she swallowed. _"Un bambino? un altro?"_ A nod. _"Ma io-"_

 _"Morirai se rimani nel mondo dell'uomo bianco. Stai già morendo. Lo percepisci, lo sai. Non puoi restare, devi tornare. Alla nostra tribù, ai nostri figli. Yero ha bisogno di te, non può guidare la nostra tribù senza il suo principale al suo fianco."_

 _"Padre?"_

The other one met her gaze, shaking her head. _"Dopo che te ne sei andato. Papà non è stato molto per questo mondo, con te che te non c'era più. Vicino a Yero distrutto."_ She sighed, continuing to stroke her belly, stopping only briefly and taking a deep breath. Releasing it, she sighed. _"Nostro marito ha bisogno di te. Ha bisogno che tu lo aiuti a guidare la nostra tribù, che aiuti a crescere i nostri figli. Devi fare questo bambino. Questo bambino è importante, è necessario tornare in modo da poter ce la fare."_ She inhaled sharply, resting a hand against her side.

 _"Stai bene?"_

She nodded, releasing a breath. Another sharp breath, and she tensed. A soft hum escaped her throat, and she closed her eyes briefly before opening them and locking gazes. _"I nostri dolori sono iniziati. Questa bambina ha deciso di venire ora."_ Another sharp intake of breath, before a cry of pain. The pains got worse, and when she looked up next, it to find the other one watching her. Suddenly, somehow, they'd switched places, and she was the one going through the pains of childbirth.

Fear filled her gaze, and she met the other's eyes. _"Cosa sta succedendo? Eri-"_ She was cut off by a contraction, and reached down, pressing a hand against her belly. The other studied her, silent, not necessarily enjoying the agony she was in, but merely hoping the message got through. _"Devi tornare a casa. Il bambino sta aspettando dentro di te per essere fatto, per nascere, e se non torni a casa, tu, e ogni speranza della nostra tribù morirà. Capisci adesso? Gli Arjiki hanno bisogno di te, hanno sempre avuto bisogno di te. Eri destinato a loro, prima di nascere, eri destinato ad essere Arjiki. La speranza della nostra tribù, l'amore della nostra tribù è dentro di voi, le uova in attesa di essere unite ai semi di nostro marito. Devi tornare a casa, altrimenti la nostra tribù morirà. Non sei bianco, sei Arjiki, sei sempre stato Arjiki. Non sei solo la nostra principessa, sei la nostra tessera principale. Torna a casa ora, o questo nostro bambino non nascerà mai."_

When she looked up next, through the pain, she thought she saw her husband in the other's place. But she blinked, and he was gone. She let out a groan, hands pressing against the sides of her belly. The other reached out, gently brushing a hand over her belly. She had carried the babe, waiting for her to come, to show her the future that awaited her; at one point, she'd gotten her husband instead, and it had startled him, but he was not her intended.

 _"La forza della nostra tribù sta dentro di voi. Ne hai nati tre, ma ce n'è un altro che deve essere fatto e nato; devi tornare a casa. ora. Il nostro bambino sta aspettando di nascere."_ The other rested a hand against her head. _"Ora spingi. Difficile! Continuate a spingere! di nuovo! Continuate a spingere, e vedere il futuro in attesa di essere fatto dentro di voi."_

Against her wishes, her body did as told, for it knew what to do, regardless of whether she was walking between the worlds or not.

 _"Madre! Madre!"_

Pain, intense and strong and continuous, near endless.

Strong cries soon reached her ears. The smell of freshly spilled blood filled the air, and a deep, throbbing pain settled between her legs. It took a moment, for her to realize that the screams were coming from her, and she reached down between her thighs. With another strong push, something slid out of her and into her arms in a burst of blood and fluid, and she soon held a tiny human in her embrace, slick with blood and birth, their cries loud and harsh, a newborn testing its lungs.

A firm kiss was pressed to her head, and she heard her husband's voice, somewhere in the distance. _"Infine, il mio amore."_

She looked down at the infant in her arms, before looking back up, to find the other watching her. She shook her head. _"Dimmi cosa devo fare! Dimmi quale scegliere! Si prega!"_

But the other shook her head. The smoke from the fire in the pit of their tent began to swirl around her, engulfing her in its sweet scent. Flashes of memories filled her head- of her children, of the nights when they were conceived, and the nights when each was born, the pain that tugged at every fiber of her being... followed by the rush of love as each finally entered the world was soon held against her chest, their cries ringing in her ears. When they learn to walk, to talk, and began to play and giggle and laugh and smile... nights with her husband, when they'd sneak off to the waterfall and make love or watch the stars... happy memories, _beautiful_ memories. _"Cosa devo fare?"_

The other backed away. _"Ascoltate il vostro cuore, vi porterà al vostro vero appartenere. Ti condurrà a casa."_ The other then faded away; a child's screams could be heard, frantic and heartbreaking.

 _"Madre! Madre!"_

She bolted upright, waking Shell in the process, pain ripping through both her heart and her womb at the same time, as the cries of her babe, one not yet created, called to her from some world beyond.

 _"Fae? Fae, what's wrong?"_ She turned to her brother, meeting his gaze before grabbing his wrist. Nothing needed to be said; he nodded, getting up and sneaking from the room, down the stairs and out of the house. Once he was gone, she released a breath, biting her lip as the jolting pain again. It would subside eventually, but in that moment, it was more a reminder of where she needed to be, of where her true home was.

Quickly, quietly, she got out of bed and shed the nightgown, finding her items on the nightstand and quickly dressed before sneaking from the house, the other's words echoing in her head to guide her.

 _Listen to your heart, it will lead you where you truly belong. It will lead you home._


	57. Chapter 57

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The horses were ready.

Regardless of what she thought, Shell was going with her- at least as far as she would allow him to. So when he looked up next, it was with the moon high in the sky, around eleven that evening, to find a young woman dressed as a squaw rushing from the house. His breath caught upon seeing his oldest sister in the clothing she'd worn that first day- the dress hugged her curves, the moccasins were soft on her feet, and her hair, in two thick braids down her back, adorned with feathers, rope and beads, looked truly beautiful.

She took the reigns of the rose grey, her beloved _Corvo_ , and climbed atop. He climbed atop his own horse. "I'm coming with you, Fae. I'll go as far as you'll allow me, I won't let you go alone. It wouldn't feel right if I did."

Silence fell, as she drank in the tone, and nodded, before nickering softly and urging the horse on. In the darkness of the night, the siblings spurred off, the light of the moon to guide them.

They rode for hours, following the river, sticking close together in the darkness, stopping to rest only on occasion. At one point, Shell turned to watch his sister; she seemed so confident atop a horse. Had her husband taught her to ride? What else had he taught her to do? Hunt? Fish? Tibbett had told them that women were worshiped in the tribe because they were seen as living embodiment of the Great Mother. And his sister had birthed three children- he could see the curves left from her children, noticed how the braids shortened her hair by inches, and the way the feathers blew in the breeze, giving her an almost ethereal look.

She met his gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips, and after a moment, she leaned down, lying against the horse's mane, urging the beautiful grey faster. The feathers in the horse's mane rustled in the wind, and it went faster, as though sensing the urgency. Slowly, Shell copied her, glancing at his sister before turning his focus back to the task.

Eventually, they stopped along the river's edge for water and to rest briefly. As they disembarked, Shell took a deep breath.

She nodded, understanding the question in his voice, if not all the words, as she slid off the horse and moved to the riverbank. The boy watched his sister's movements, the fluidness of them upon the earth, the ease with which her hips swayed and rolled as she walked. He watched as she knelt by the bank, reaching out and cupping her hands as she dipped them into the water. After a moment, he joined her, kneeling beside her, watching as she drank. She stopped however, looking at him over her fingers. He opened his mouth, but stopped, blushing. She lowered her hands, holding them out. His gaze darted to them, confused. "I-"

A moment passed as she rolled her eyes, and for the briefest of periods, Shell caught a glimpse of the teenager she'd been before she'd been captured that day in the grasslands. Reaching out, she took his hands, shaping them into a cup, and then dipping them into the water. She then lifted them towards his face, and after a moment's hesitation, he drank.

Though Papa had always told them to follow the river if they ever got lost, the Thropp children had no real survival skills to actually survive in the wild. But Elphaba, having grown up these last seven years in the tribe, had learned how to survive, for the Arjiki did it every day. They lived off the land, hunting and gathering and fishing; and Elphaba, being the Crown Princess, had probably learned at least basic hunting and fishing skills from her husband. That she was now teaching her little brother with the very basic of basics- how to drink from a river- showed just how sheltered the Thropp children were and had been all their lives.

They sat upon the bank for several minutes, catching their breath. It was still dark out, not yet one in the morning; they had been riding most of the night. If they rested now and left before dawn, they would reach the camp by morning.

Not for the first time since they'd taken off, did Shell wonder how their parents would take it to discover their children gone- both their daughters now gone forever. He knew that Mama would not take it well at all; Papa... Shell had the sneaky suspicion that Papa had been slowly starting to accept that his oldest daughter was Arjiki, that she'd married an Arjiki and had babies with him. He sighed. He would miss her, he knew he would, but that was to be expected. It didn't mean he loved her any less. She was still his sister, and he would always love her, as he would always love Nessa.

He glanced out at the water. "Are we going the right way?"

She nodded. _"Il fiume."_

His brow furrowed as he looked at her. "What?"

 _"Il fiume. Il fiume ricondurrà alla mia tribù."_

He turned back to the water, putting her words and gestures together. "The river? We follow the river?" She nodded. "The river will take us back to your tribe?" Another nod, eagerly this time. " _I... il... fi... fiu...me. Il fiume_." He turned to her, and she smiled at him. After a moment, she got up, going back to the horse and climbing atop it. He followed, climbing onto his own. So it was only two words, but they were two words in her tongue that he could now say, and to see her smile- a smile he hadn't seen in _seven_ years- was huge.

She as starting to come back, little by little.


	58. Chapter 58

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

The sky had just begun to change color on the morning of the seventh day when the siblings reached the far outskirts. Shell turned to her, seeing the light spark in her eyes. "What? Fae? What is it?"

He turned to see what she was staring at, and after a moment, her voice broke the silence, as smoke slowly began to rise into the sky and distant voices could be heard. She took a deep breath, heart in her throat, as she realized just how close to home she was now. _"Il villaggio."_ Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. _"Il mio villaggio, la mia tribù. Casa mia."_

Shell repeated the words softly, slowly, before turning to her. "Your village? Is that where your tribe is?" She nodded, not meeting his gaze. _"La mia famiglia, mio marito, i miei figli."_

 _"I... mi...ei fi...gli..._ your... your children?" Another nod.

 _"Casa."_

That breathless whisper was the last he heard her speak before she spurred the horse onward; a moment passed before he gave chase, urging the horse on to catch up. The wind ran its fingers through his hair and clothes, as the sky turned brilliant shades of orange and yellow on this adventurous morning. As they got closer and closer to the outskirts, the smell of smoke from cooking fires began to tickle his nose, the sound of children's voices and distant singing began to echo about, the bright colors and beauty of an Indian village come to life filled his senses. He was jolted however, as his sister tugged sharply on the reigns of Corvo to stop him, and Shell followed suit.

"What is it? Fae? What's wrong?" She turned to him, the barrier that was language failing her at this moment. But she needn't have said a word, because the meaning was clear in her dark eyes. The boy gasped slightly. "Oh."

Those beautiful dark eyes he and Nessa also possessed spoke volumes. _You cannot come with me, little brother._ He swallowed, forcing himself to keep contact with her. _This is my tribe, not yours. You would not be welcome._ He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. _This is as far as I allow you to go. From this point on, I must go on alone._

"I... I under... I understand, Fae."

Though he knew this moment was coming, had prepared himself mentally for it, it was the emotional he'd given no thought to. Knowing that he'd have to turn back as she went on, that this would probably be the last time he would ever see her- truly, now- tugged at his heart, for he felt as though he'd just started to get to know the woman who his sister had become in her seven years with the Arjiki, and now, they were parting forever. A moment passed, as the siblings sat in silence, before he finally turned to her. "I... I'll miss you."

She smiled softly at him. " _W... will... m... mi...ss... y...ou... too._ " It was clumsy, uncertain, but the sentiment and honesty was there. In her broken, tattered English, the truth rang loud and clear.

Quickly, Shell nudged his horse closer to hers, reaching for her. She let him engulf her in a hug, breathing in the scent of her little brother, nudging her nose into his hair, memorizing him as best she could. He buried his face in the soft buckskin of her dress, arms wrapped tight around her waist, letting himself remember this moment and hold onto it for all eternity. This would be the last memory of his sister he would have, for he suspected he would never see her again once they parted ways. She pressed a kiss to his head, whispering softly to him.

He pulled away. "What?"

She met his gaze. " _Un giorno, quando i colori del vento dipingono le praterie, ci incontreremo di nuovo, anche se non posso dire quando_."

"I don't-"

But all she did was press a kiss to his forehead. _"Cerca i colori del vento, fratellino. Quando arriveranno, ci rivedremo."_

Then, without another word, she pulled away and nudged the horse forward. Shell watched her go; once she arrived in the camp, he turned, and with one last glance over his shoulder at his sister, he spurred the horse onward, back the way they'd come, unaware that Candle had been skulking through the bushes at that moment, searching for berries, and had stopped, entranced by the young man on the horse who'd come with her princess and now left.

Her basket forgotten, she rushed back to the camp, eager to know if Elphaba was truly back, for good this time. She reached the encampment just as Elphaba's horse rode into the village; normal routines now interrupted by the arrival of the princess. Excited chatter began to rise, as everyone gathered around; she sat atop _Corvo_ , dark gaze searching for someone in particular. Soon though, she heard a familiar voice, and her heart began to flutter.

 _"Papa! Papa!"_

The voice stopped, but soon, a tent flap opened, and she watched as her two oldest children hurried out of the tent; the sight of them tugging their father behind them, their little brother following behind tugged at her heart, and she swallowed, before gently nudging the horse to move forward. Her husband looked up in time to see the horse stop not far from him.

He started, surprised.

His wife sat atop her beloved rose grey, dressed not in the white man's clothes, but the buckskin dress and moccasins she had worn the day she was stolen, her long black hair pulled back into the tight, thick braids that hung over her shoulders. Woven into her hair, were four dove grey feathers, and two leather strands with brightly colored beads at the ends. Around her throat hung a necklace of beautifully delicate wood and stone, and something shone in her dark eyes; something he had not seen the last time she had returned, dressed in white man's clothes.

She slid off the horse, gaze never leaving his, even as her children rushed towards her.

 _"Mama! Madre_!"


	59. Chapter 59

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Life in the tribe seemed to come to a standstill. Everyone watched and waited, eager to see how the new Chief would accept his wife back. Tibbett and Mulhama stood with Sarima; the young bride held her breath, realizing that her sister knew nothing of the events that had taken place the night before.

Elphaba knelt, accepting her children into her arms, but only briefly before she stood and made her way to her husband. Fiyero was stoic, silent, watching the woman with the trained gaze of a hunter, careful of her movements. His gaze roved over her as her gaze roved over him, drinking in every detail, even as she stopped until they were mere inches apart, and reached for him.

 _"Yero, mio marito."_

His blue gaze sparked at her words, and after a moment, he allowed her to brush her fingers against his cheek. His eyes closed on instinct, and he pressed his cheek into her palm, reaching up and covering her hand with his. Her own gaze studied him, finally latching onto the diamond in the center of his forehead- the only tattoo an Arjiki royal was allowed upon the face, signifying his status as-

Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head. No. _No_ , that would mean that... that Avaric had... _"Padre?"_

Her husband's eyes opened, and he met her gaze. _"È passato la notte in cui sei tornato dall'uomo bianco. Un cuore spezzato, che sua figlia aveva rifiutato la sua tribù, la sua famiglia."_

Tears misted her eyes, and she swallowed thickly. " _Yero-"_

With the swiftness of a panther, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards him, until they were nose to nose. Anger raged within his blue eyes, anger that had never, not once, until that moment, been directed at her. She had seen her husband angry before, but had never felt his wrath, and she feared it now. Fiyero was not a violent man; no more violent than the other warriors within the tribe, but he could be frightening. It was one of the reasons he would make such a wonderful chief, for his anger was often justified, and always controlled.

He squeezed her wrist; she whimpered softly, wincing. _"Hai lasciato la nostra tribù, la nostra famiglia. E ora torni? Perché?"_

She met his gaze. _"Il mio cuore parlava. Ho sbagliato a non ascoltarlo prima. Perché il mio cuore chiama te e il tuo, marito. Come il tuo cuore chiama a me e al mio. Fu solo quando ascoltai il mio cuore che capii a dove appartengo veramente. Che il mio posto è qui, nella nostra tribù, con i nostri figli, al tuo fianco."_ She reached up, pressing her other hand to his heart, before working her fingers around the hand that held her wrist and loosened it, tugging it until it rested against her breast, over her heart. _"Lo senti, marito? L'hai sentito? Batte il tuo nome contro il mio seno. Ha sentito il tuo cuore; era il tuo cuore che mi chiamava casa. Il tuo cuore che mi ha chiamato per tornare, in modo che la nostra bambina potesse essere fatta dentro di me, in modo che potesse crescere dentro di me. Non è stato solo il tuo cuore a chiamarmi, ma il bambino non ancora creato, che è destinato a venire, che mi ha chiamato, attraverso il battito del tuo cuore."_

He started, surprised that she mentioned the babe, for he'd walked within the worlds that night, come across her at the waterfall, heavy with child. That she had experienced something similar-

She moved closer, reaching up and taking his face in her hands, studying his features. The stress of the last week had aged her husband slightly, and she sighed, resting her forehead to his. _"Yero. Per favore, mio marito, lasciami tornare a casa. Lasciatemi tornare alla nostra tribù."_

Then, without another word, she captured his lips in a soft kiss that soon turned passionate. Her arms slid around his neck, and his hands found purchase at her waist before sliding around her and holding her against him. The pain she'd suffered, the heartbreak, the worry and fear, all came out in her kiss; he tasted the very fabric of her fractured soul; drank in the pieces of her that had died in the white man's world, tasted the bitterness of their demise, how she'd nearly given up. Greedily, he drank, tasting every corner of her mouth, tongue trailing over the hidden nooks and crannies he at one time knew so well.

She tasted as sweet now as the day he'd first kissed her, after their marriage had taken place. But like the darkest, ripest of blackberries, her sweetness became too much, and he broke the kiss, turning from her, forcing himself to catch his breath. She rested her forehead against his cheek, and he reached up, cradling her head in his hand.

God, he missed her taste-

But then he pulled away, yanking her head back to meet her gaze; she cried out, startled. _"Pensi di poter tornare? ora? Un giorno dopo che mio padre è morto, un giorno dopo che abbiamo pianto per lui, un giorno dopo che sono diventato capo, quando avevo più bisogno di te, quando avevo bisogno del mio principale al mio fianco. Allora non eri lì, ma vuoi tornare adesso?"_

 _"Yero, per favore, cerca di capire-"_

 _"Capire? Capisco che tu non sia la donna che ho sposato. Assomigli a lei e sembri lei e assaggi come lei assaggia e sente come si sente, ma non sei lei. Avrai anche partorito i miei figli, ma tu appartieni più al mondo dell'uomo bianco che qui."_

She pulled away, losing her footing and stumbling to the ground, skidding her hands as she hurried to soften the fall. She looked up at him, tears misting her eyes. _"Non sei altro che un bianco vestito da Arjiki. E questo è tutto ciò che sarai mai."_

She stood, tears sliding down her cheeks. _"Yero-"_ She understood that he was angry, hurt and in grief, but surely he wouldn't-

 _"Non dovrai mettere di nuovo piede nella terra di Arjiki, bianco."_ She shook her head, reaching for him.

 _"No! Yero!"_

 _"Perché se lo fai, mi prenderò la tua vita io stesso."_ Those last words stopped her, and she choked on a sob, catching sight of her sister over her husband's shoulder. Mulhama gasped, moving towards her, but Tibbett grabbed her arm, the meaning clear.

 _Do not get between them, this is not your fight._

Without a word, she turned, hurrying to the horse and mounting it. With a soft nicker, she turned the horse and spurred it on, out of the village she was now banished from.

 _"Mama! Mama!"_

She turned back; Irji, Nor, Manek, her beautiful children, rushed after the horse, crying for her, reaching for her. Their pained cries echoed in her ears as she followed the river back, her heart shattering.


	60. Chapter 60

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _"How dare you!"_

With her sister's second flight from the tribe, Mulhama rushed at the young chief, her instinct to protect her older sister burning like the wildest of fires. Tibbett tried his hardest to get control of the young woman, but she shrugged her husband off. Once close enough, she reached up, though she didn't strike.

 _"That is my sister! Your wife! The mother of your children! And you banish her for something she didn't do! Something she didn't know about! How was she to know the chief would die after she left? She didn't! And yet, you, in all your grief and anger over the entire situation, decide it is easier to place the blame on my sister! My sister, who's only crime was being born white! My sister, who loves you with all her heart! Who spent every moment she was in the white world begging your gods to let her come back to your tribe, and when she finally does, you banish her for something she didn't know had happened! How dare you! I understand that you are grieving the loss of your father, but you banished the mother of your children! The mother of your children! Do you know what it is like for a mother to go without her children? It nearly killed her to be away from them when she was in the white world! It will kill her to be away from them now! She was starting to die in the white world, because she was away from her tribe, and you have just sent her back! She_ will _die if she returns!"_

"Mulhama-"

But the young woman waved her husband away, never taking her focus off her brother-in-law. _"And I will hold you responsible for her death! How could you dare even think of banishing the woman you love, the woman who was destined to be with the Arjiki before she was even born? My sister was meant for this tribe, she was meant for you! She was always meant for the Arjiki! She was always meant for you! Always! You have just killed not only the mother of your children, but yourself and every last member of this tribe by banishing her! It's because of her the tribe survives! It thrives off her! She's the sunlight that warms the ground at your feet, the wind that comes through the grasslands, the fire you cook with! She is Arjiki! Regardless of her skin! Without you, without your children, without her tribe, she will die! And she will take all of you with her!"_

Fiyero winced, had the decency to show the regret in his blue eyes, the silent admission that perhaps he'd done the wrong thing. Mulhama shook her head.

" _I would listen to her cry for you every night she was there, in that house. On the other side of that locked door, she screamed and cried and begged for you. Because she loves you, because you are her husband, the father of her children. You and this tribe are her_ world. _The_ reason _she kept living while in the white world those five days. And now, thanks to_ you, _and your_ grief _and your_ anger _over your father passing, you have given her no reason to keep living anymore. Without her tribe, her family, she will die. And_ you _will be the cause of her death_. _And I will never forgive you._ _I will_ never forgive _you for killing my sister."_

And without another word, she turned, rushing back into their tent. Tibbett glanced at the young chief before hurrying after his wife. Slowly, Fiyero turned to Sarima, who sighed. _"Devi darle la caccia, Fiyero. Mulhama ha ragione, Elphaba era destinato ad essere Arjiki prima che entrambi di voi nascessero. Le vostre vite, e quella della vostra tribù, sono legate tra loro. Grande Madre intrecciato quei fili se stessa; sapeva quello che stava facendo. Sapeva l'importanza."_

The young chief opened his mouth to speak, but Sarima stopped him, reaching up and covering his mouth with her hand. _"Devi darle la caccia e riportarla indietro. Il futuro della nostra tribù dipende da lei. Il tuo futuro dipende da lei. Ora vai a prendere tua moglie, scusati e portala a casa."_

A moment passed, before Fiyero strode to the horses, untying his. He glanced back at Sarima, who nodded. She knew of what she spoke, for the Great Mother had spoken to her in a dream, many, many moons ago, when she was a mere child. Great Mother had told her of a white girl that would be brought to the tribe, who would marry the prince, who would bear four children, be stolen by the whites, and forced back into their world, only to return to her tribe and be banished. Great Mother had not told her the outcome- if the girl would return or not, and Sarima, now a grown woman, knew that it was up to them to decide the outcome. When it came to prophesies, the Great Mother could only reveal so much. Sarima just hoped that Fiyero would listen.

She watched in silence as he hurried off, going in search of his wife. It was as though she were watching a moment of the future, and knew now that this moment had been shown to her, but she had been too young to understand or really take it all in. Taking a deep breath, she said a quick prayer, begging Great Mother to help the young chief to see the pain he had caused to the woman he so clearly loved, and that he would have the courage to swallow his pain and pride and fix his mistakes, because the very life of their tribe depended on it.

As Sarima's silent prayers reached for Great Mother, Fiyero tugged on the reigns, halting his horse. His wife stood with her back to him, face buried in Corvo's mane, fingers stroking the horse's nose as her small shoulders shook with sobs. Silently, he got down and moved towards her, reaching out to touch her. But Elphaba, sensing a presence behind her, turned before his hand could even grace her shoulder. Her eyes locked on his, and she quickly climbed back atop her horse, grabbing the reigns and nickering to get him to start moving. As the horse did as ordered and began to turn, Fiyero reached up, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her from the horse, a surprised screech escaping her as she tumbled into his arms.


	61. Chapter 61

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

She fought him, with as much strength as she could muster, but she was tired and heartbroken and wanted nothing more than to sleep. So she didn't understand why he'd grabbed her from her horse; she was banished from her tribe, the only home she truly had, so why was he there? What was the goal of pulling her from her horse, unless it was to hurt her even more?

 _"Fabala!"_ He turned her to face him, reaching up to take her face in his hands.

 _"No! Lasciami andare! Lasciami andare!"_ She found enough strength to try and shove him away, only to succeed in backing up and stumbling into the river. Caught in its current, she didn't resist as it dragged her downstream; instead, she waited for death, hoping it would be quick and painless.

It wasn't.

It never came.

Because Fiyero followed the river, keeping an eye on her; until she got to the area near the alcove and the giant stones within that slowed the rushing water down. Once able, he hurried to her, pulling her from the water and carrying her back to the embankment, fear filling every fiber of his being. _"Fabala?"_ Sarima's words rang loud in her head, and he pressed his ear to her chest, finding a heartbeat. _"Fabala!"_ Quickly and expertly, he worked on her, opening her mouth and swiping his fingers down her throat, in effort to get her to cough. Seconds passed by, before finally she choked; he pulled his fingers away, and she slowly struggled to rise, coughing up river water as she did so. He laid a hand against her head, thanking Death for not taking her from him.

 _"Y... ero?"_ She turned, to see him sitting beside her. Fear filled his gaze, and after a moment, he reached for her, but she pushed him away, not wanting his touch. It stung, for she had never rejected his touch, not in the seven years they'd been married, not in all the days and nights they'd made love. Not once, had she ever pushed him away; she'd always accepted willingly, body and soul.

 _But her soul is fractured, a part of her has died, because of her captivity. And you... by banishing her, you killed the rest of her. No wonder she didn't fight when she hit the water._

Silence settled between them, as she finally gathered her legs beneath her, reaching up and wringing the water out of her braids. She glanced down at the dress, her favorite buckskin, and swallowed hard. She was no longer Arjiki, she had no right to these clothes, or even her name-

 _"Mi dispiace."_ She looked up, meeting his gaze. _"Mi dispiace, Elphaba. Non avrei dovuto comportarmi come ho fatto io. Non avevo il diritto; Ho sofferto il mio dolore e il mio dolore per la persona più importante della mia vita. Mi sbagliavo."_

 _"Mi hai bandito, Yero."_ Her voice shook as she spoke. _"Mi ha esiliato da casa mia, dalla mia tribù, dai miei figli. Mio marito. La mia stessa vita. Non so nient'altro, ma la nostra tribù... la tua tribù."_ She corrected, choking on a sob. He winced, hearing the pain in her voice, and then reached for her.

 _"La nostra tribù, Fabala. È la nostra tribù-"_

She pulled away, shaking her head. _"Come posso fidarmi di te? Mi hai bandito! Me! La madre dei tuoi figli! Ho portato ognuna delle tue ragazze! Mi sono gonfiato molto con ogni bambino, ho attraversato il dolore agonizzante di spingerli nel mondo, e tu mi bandisci! Tu mi bandisci!"_ She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. He tried to cut in, but she stopped him. _"E tutto perché papà è morto e io non ero qui. Perché non sapevo che sarebbe passato di qui se non fossi rimasto. Eppure lei sostiene che sia colpa mia. Come posso fidarmi di te dopo? Come posso fidarmi delle parole che parli, quando le hai usate contro di me?"_

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into him as he spoke. _"Allora fidati delle mie azioni, Fabala. Fidati che quello che faccio è dall'amore. Si prega."_

She shook her head. _"Come posso, quando le tue azioni fanno male tanto quanto le tue parole?"_

His blue gaze found hers, and his voice was soft as he spoke next. _"Allora fidati del mio bacio, Fabala, perché il mio bacio non ti ha mai mentito. Ricordare? Ogni bacio che ho condiviso con te è sempre stato la verità. Fidati del mio bacio."_

And before she could protest, he did just that, and kissed her full on the mouth.

Her mouth exploded with the taste of him- the fires of their tent, fresh picked berries and dried meat, the crispness of the air within the grasslands, and something she knew to be distinctly her husband, but that she could never name. His tongue filled her mouth, sliding gently against hers, in that all too familiar dance. One hand slid up her back, brushing along the back of her neck, and she shivered slightly. He tightened his hold on her waist, until she was flush against him, her hips sliding against his, her body brushing against him. He grunted softly, and she moaned in response, sliding an arm around his neck and pushing herself up.

They managed to shift until she was sitting in his lap, her legs straddling him, the skirt of her dress hiked up around her thighs, her most sensitive of areas brushing against him. The movement aroused them both, but neither broke the kiss. She wrapped an arm around his neck, rising slightly out of his lap, and he let one hand trail down her side, caressing her hip briefly before dancing over her thigh to slip beneath her dress.

He gently scraped his teeth along her lower lip, meeting her gaze, silently asking permission to do what he wished beneath her skirt, and she nodded, capturing his mouth again. His fingers danced along the black curls above her opening, before finding the small bundle within her folds and rolling it in the fingers. She began to squirm in pleasure, and he smiled softly against her mouth. Once more, he repeated the gesture, and she groaned within the kiss, arching her back and lifting her hips slightly. Seeing this as his opportunity, he slipped first one finger into her, and then a second; they'd had plenty of experience in this area of intercourse over the seven years they'd been married, and after a moment, he slid another finger into her, managing to hit the right spot.

She groaned in pleasure; it had been a week since she'd felt such sensations, and she knew she wouldn't be able to control herself. When it came to intercourse, they were both insatiable at times, often, going six or seven times in a single night or day, before each of the children had come along. As they'd grown older, both had found that the witnessing the other's orgasm often made their own that much more pleasurable. As she tightened around his fingers, her mind went back to his words.

 _Trust my kiss. My kiss has never lied to you. Every kiss I've ever shared with you has always been the truth._

She came hard and fast, breaking the kiss as the a moan of pleasure escaped her throat and she threw her head back, exposing the clean lines of her throat. The juices within her coated his fingers, and as he slowly pulled them out of her, she met his gaze; the sight of his fingers covered in her juices, only arousing her even more. Her lips crashed onto his, managed to catch her, even though he lost his balance, crashing onto the earth beneath him as his wife proceeded to drink to the very depths of his soul.

He was right, she knew. Every kiss- as well as every pleasurable moment joined together- spoke infinitely more volumes of the truth than any words ever could.


	62. Chapter 62

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _A man has many facets, just as a woman does. And there are infinite ways to pleasure both._

She could see it in his eyes, the desire, the longing, to be within her. She could feel it, deep within her womb, the tugging of desire, and after a moment, she backed up, towards the shallowest part of the riverbed, where the small alcove of trees that she and the girls had camped in that night was. She reached up, running a hand along her throat and over the neck of her dress, brushing against the stones and wood of her necklace, the meaning clear.

 _Come to me, my husband. Take me as you have before. Take me as you have before on countless occasions. Become a part of me again, and let me become a part of you again._

She held out a hand, and after a moment, he took it, following her into the alcove. Once within the safety of the trees, she looked up at him, the words tumbling from her lips like the finest of jewels. _"So di non essere più tua moglie, perché mi hai bandito dalla tua tribù, ma per favore, prendimi come hai fatto quando ero."_

He shook his head, reaching up and taking her face in his hands. _"Shh, Fabala. Sei mia moglie, Fabala, in ogni modo. Sarai mia moglie finché la Morte non riterrà che ti ruberà da me o da me."_

She studied him for a moment. _"Ma mi hai bandito-"_

He sighed, taking a deep breath. _"Ero arrabbiato, ferito, addolorato. Ho tolto il mio dolore su di te, sulla persona più preziosa della mia vita, e non avrei dovuto. Ho agito in modo irrazionale e orribilmente. Ti ho messo le mani addosso in un modo che non avrei mai dovuto. Non metterò mai più le mani su di te allo stesso modo. Promesso."_

She pulled away, backing up a step. _"Mi hai ancora bandito. Io, tua moglie. Il tuo capo. La donna che è cresciuta con i tuoi figli e li ha espulsi dal mio corpo! Mi hai bandito!"_

He matched her, catching her hands in his. _"E posso annullare il tuo esilio! Fabala, è stato fatto con rabbia, nel dolore e nel dolore. Ho imparato, quasi perdendoti contro il fiume-"_

An eyebrow rose, intrigued. _"Hai imparato?"_

A nod, followed by difficulty swallowing the lump in his throat. _"Ho imparato che le parole dette con rabbia e dolore non devono avere peso, quando la vita si trova a cavallo tra i mondi."_ He reached up, caressing her cheek. _"Mi dispiace tanto, moglie. Riesci mai a pensare di perdonarmi un giorno?"_ She turned from him. _"Per favore, Fabala, di' che tornerai alla nostra tribù, alla nostra famiglia. Non siamo noi stessi senza di te. Stiamo morendo una morte lenta con te andato."_ Gently, he tugged her towards him, leaning down to brush his lips against her, silently seeking permission, and after a moment, she nodded. _"Per favore, torna, amore mio,"_ He kissed her softly. _"mia moglie,"_ Another kiss, longer this time. _"il mio capo."_

This kiss, longer than the last two, spoke the truth of his words.

 _Oh my wife, to feel your hidden curves and soft skin again, to hear your heart and move as one with you..._

He gently tugged her towards him, sliding his hands up her body, over the buckskin of her dress, breaking the kiss briefly to meet her gaze. The question hung in his eyes, and after a moment, she nodded, returning her mouth to his, tongue moving to slide over his. His hands found her hips, following the curve of them, before moving up to her waist and back down. His fingers found the hem of her dress, and he moved to grasp it, before stopping. She broke the kiss briefly, reaching down to tug on his hands, indicating he needed to take it off her, but he didn't move.

Instead, he slid his hands beneath the dress, over her stomach down, resting them over her womb. She broke the kiss, looking up at him, and he just shook her head, before capturing her mouth again. Now, he removed the dress, slowly, carefully, tugging it over her head and gently dropping it to the grassy ground beneath their feet. The chill in the air hardened the buds of her breasts, the same buds their children had suckled her milk from when they were babies, still slick and ruddy and fresh from the womb.

She let her gaze wander over him, lighting on the that area, noticing the growth straining against his pants, and after a moment, she helped him out of them. Now free of the buckskin restraint, he stretched firm and sturdy before her, and she blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. He had always been good-sized, and from the time of their marriage, that had been her worry, that she would not be big enough to hold all of him, but she was wrong. That night, when they'd finally consummated their marriage, he'd filled her completely, near to the brim and about to burst, and it had felt wonderful. And every subsequent night after had felt even more wonderful than the last.

She looked forward to it, now. She eagerly anticipated him filling her, pushing into her, before settling inside, deep within her, thick and full and tight. Her gaze wandered up to his, and he smiled softly, drinking in the sight of her before him. The anticipation of such a moment was getting greater, and soon she couldn't contain herself. She closed the gap between them, taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply, before reaching down to trail her fingers over the starburst on his chest. Her mouth soon followed, kissing each diamond softly as her fingers moved to caress him. They slid along his shaft, towards the tip, brushing gently, against the sensitive skin at the tip. His reaction was instantly, and she smiled softly, looking up at him. He met her gaze before kissing her again, deeper this time, his own hands trailing over her body, brushing against the buds and down her stomach, coming to between her legs.

His hands slid over her thighs towards her buttocks, and the diamonds that graced not just her shoulders and back but her buttocks as well. He grasped them, gently digging his nails into her skin and pushing, sending her onto her toes. _"Ti voglio, moglie. Oh, come ti voglio. Voglio riempire il vostro più sacro dei luoghi; essere stretto e aderente dentro di voi, stretto e vicino a scoppiare."_

She giggled, the innocence she still held within her heart bursting forth in the moment. _"E lo farai? Scoppiare dentro di me? Riempimi con i tuoi semi, quanti più puoi, marito. Riempimi i tuoi semi, tutti. Li desidero. Ti desidero. Oh, come ti desidero, mio capo."_

He smiled softly, kissing her again. _"Il mio capo."_

She accepted his kiss, sliding her arms around his neck. She could feel her juices begin to flow freely, simply at the mere brush of him against her skin. It slid down her thighs, coating her skin, and she made a point of sliding her inner thighs against him. He gasped softly, and she giggled, knowing full well what she was doing. When they broke the kiss, she met his gaze. The scent of her arousal was strong in the air, and he slid his hands around her waist, moving down to caress the soft, supple curves of her body left by pregnancy and childbirth before moving between her thighs, to trail through her juices. Small fires began to crackle within her stomach, and she bit her lip.

 _"Sono più che pronto, marito. Prendi me, come mi hai preso prima. Si prega."_

The quick glance upwards was all it took for him to do as she asked.


	63. Chapter 63

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N: She has a few lines from _Wicked_ in this chapter. See if you can spot them. Hint: It's the love ballad, and they're not in English. ****Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

They took things slow. This was intimate, gentle, a loving.

Making love was considered the highest form of sexual pleasure to the Arjiki, for all, regardless of status, but here, in this moment, it meant something else entirely to the young chief and his wife.

It was a reunion; a homecoming, of both body and soul. The reuniting of two souls, separated for a period, before being allowed to join back together, working through the heartache and pain to find the love that still bound them together.

Gently, Fiyero moved to his knees; she followed, never breaking the kiss. Instead, her arms tightened around his neck, his hands moved to grasp at her hips as he brushed against her thighs. The juices within her continued to flow freely down her thighs, the sweet scent of her arousal filling the air around them, and he trailed a hand down over the curls before slipping between her thighs. She gasped in pleasure as the feel of his fingers sliding over the lips of her opening, before they gently delved into her slick folds.

She could feel the pulsing of desire within her most sacred of places as his worked to bring her to the brink once more, eventually, she tightened around his fingers, trying her hardest to slow down, but the man could do marvelous things to her body, and she groaned in pleasure, exploding around him. After gently removing his fingers from her, he guided her down, until she lay before him among the grasses of the alcove. Breathing heavy, he gave himself time to catch his breath, letting his gaze wander over the woman who lay before him.

Her chest heaved; even after having given birth to three children, she was still small, but then again, she'd always been small. His gaze moved down to her stomach, noting the small pooch that was the last sign of their children having grown within her, before moving downward. Her inner thighs were coated in her juices, the sweet scent of arousal wafting upwards from between her legs, and after a moment, he moved to join her, leaning down to capture her mouth, hands on either side of her body.

Mouths connected and hands roamed, once more becoming acquainted with each others' bodies upon the grasses of the alcove floor. He moved to kiss her skin, lips and teeth soon finding the hardened buds of her breasts. Tenderly, he teased them, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin and blowing gently on them. She squirmed in anticipation, trailing her fingers down his chest, brushing them over his stomach before moving to caress his hips.

It felt like centuries since they'd last made love- in reality, only about a week, for they'd made love the morning she'd been stolen. But today, as they played and teased and rediscovered, it felt as though they'd come home. Both were slick and ready, the desire they held for each other pulsing deep within and calling to be satisfied; he quivered as he brushed against the slickness of her inner thighs, for each touch, each kiss, each lick and playful tease aroused her more and more, until she squirmed in anticipation, every part of her body humming in excitement.

He quivered as he brushed against her inner thigh; slid a hand over her thigh, moving to gently part the lips between her legs before he stopped. "Yero?" His gaze moved to hers, and she pushed herself onto her elbows, seeing the worry in his blue eyes. _"Cos'è, marito? Yero? Cos'è?"_ Concern filled her voice, and she pushed herself onto a hand, reaching out for him, but he shook her away. _"Yero?"_

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he glanced away briefly before turning his gaze back to hers. _"È solo che... Ho... Suppongo... Ho solo bisogno di aiuto..."_

She sat up, now concerned. _"Guida?"_

 _"Guida... aiuta a credere che tu sia con me stasera..."_ She reached for him, and he went to her, kissing her soundly on the mouth. For a week, it had been visions and desires of her back in his arms that had both kept him sane and near drove him to madness. But now, as they lay together in the alcove, hands roaming and mouths tasting, he knew it wasn't a dream anymore, and never would be again.

He slowly broke the kiss, brushing his thumb against her cheek, his blue eyes searching hers for what he didn't know. But he knew it had to do with the fact that she was here, in the alcove, back in his arms as the day slowly turned to night, and the sun began to trade places with the moon. He knew that nearly losing her to the river had woken him up to the realization that without her, life would cease to exist. That without her, his life had no meaning, that his tribe was lost- as they'd been before she came. He studied her now, seeing her through very different eyes- no longer the eyes of a young, carefree prince newly married to the pretty young white captive that had been bought from the Scrow, but a chief, a man meant to lead his tribe, in desperate need of the return of his partner- the same pretty young white captive bought from the Scrow that long ago day, now a beautiful- no, a gorgeous- woman who had lived seven years by his side, who had birthed his children and grown up with him, finally returned to her tribe, to her husband.

 _"Sono qui, mio principe. Sono sdraiato proprio qui accanto a te, e sarò qui. Sarò sempre qui."_

He kissed her again, nudging his nose against hers. _"Vorrei far durare ogni momento, amore mio, abbiamo perso tempo per recuperare."_

She smiled softly, reaching up to brush her fingers against his cheek. He caught her hand, pressing kisses to her palm. _"Quando sei diventato così saggio, marito?"_ He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, before turning back to the soft skin of her palm, kissing and nipping gently at the skin. _"O forse sei sotto l'incantesimo di qualcuno?"_

He met her gaze now, lips pressed against her palm, before he released her hand and pinned her back into the grass, balancing above her. _"Se lo sono, allora non sono sotto l'incantesimo di nessuno tranne il tuo, la mia principessa. Eppure, ci si sente che in qualche modo... in qualche modo è su che sono caduto. Non sotto."_

She reached up, trailing her hands over the sturdy muscles of his shoulders, caressing the hard planes she knew so well. They said nothing, for the time for conversation had since passed; her hands moved up to caress his face, and he turned, kissing her palm again before leaning down and kissing her soundly on the mouth. He drank from her, greedily, as he always tended to do with her, and slowly situated himself between her open legs, brushing against the swollen lips of her opening. She whimpered in pleasure, hands sliding down the strong muscles of his back. He moved to work on her neck, sucking and nipping, in a away that would leave a harsh bruise against her beautiful milky skin come morning.

Not that it mattered; he would bruise her skin for the rest of eternity, just to prove she was his. But he needn't to, for the diamonds spoke of her status, and the gem she would receive upon her return tell of her place as his chieftess. But for this moment, she was his and he hers. He lifted his head from the breast he'd been pleasuring, meeting her gaze. _"Posso, moglie?"_

She met his gaze, her arousal evident in her eyes. _"Si, marito. Sii come vuoi."_

He kissed her, whispering softly against her lips, _"Come voglio essere è in te."_

 _"Lo voglio anch'io."_

This kiss was gentle, tender. And with her permission, he slowly pushed into her, seeking comfort and shelter within her soft, wet warmth. She moaned, arching her back in response to his entry, and he grunted softly, breaking the kiss briefly to adjust to being within her again. Though they had only been separated a week; it had been far too long for them both. They _needed_ each other; they _thrived_ off each other; as the sun needs the moon and earth needs rain. One could not exist without the other, for their souls were entwined, long before either had been conceived and brought into the world.

Great Mother had foreseen a white woman mating with an Arjiki man; though she could not say why, the white woman had great importance for the tribe; and her mating with the Arjiki would produce beautiful mixed children that would keep the tribe alive. Brought together by destiny, they would face near deadly separation, only to reunite and bring forth a new beginning for the tribe. A fourth child would be borne from the white woman's body, created from her husband's seed in a time of reunion.

But for Fiyero and Elphaba, their only focus was on each other, not prophecies or futures, as he pushed into her, filling her, filling every nook and cranny, every crevice, every pore and fiber. He met his wife's gaze as they adjusted to being together again, and she smiled softly before her eyes closed and she arched her back, a moan of pleasure escaping her vocal chords that only served to spur him on and make him speed up. He grunted softly as he moved in and out of her, slowly increasing his speed, being aware of her cues, of the whimpers and moans and hastily whispered words that escaped her.

This loving, this movement, was slow, deliberate. As their familiar rhythm returned, however, they soon began to move as one, taking it slow, making sure to reach climax together, as they had so often done before. As their movements became for familiar, she pushed her hips up, into his before eventually wrapping her legs around his waist, driving him deeper inside her.

He had made it a habit of making sure she came first, doing all he could to make sure she received the most pleasure from their coupling before coming himself, and even now, his intention was to bring her to the brink and over before following. _"Yero..."_ She groaned, arching her back as he continued to push himself deeper inside her, hitting every sensitive spot within her most sacred area. _"Ho bisogno di voi, tutti voi, marito... tutti voi dentro di me... mmhm... Yero!"_

Her back arched as pleasure rippled through every part of her, legs tightening even more around his waist, her walls locking hard around him, groans of pleasure turned into screams of ecstasy, loud and primal and wild and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in the entire world. He watched as she writhed beneath him in complete pleasure, the sight and sound and feel of his wife experiencing orgasm making his come all the quicker; waves of pleasure rocked through him as hard and fast as they did her, catching him in their grip and sending him over the edge. Snug tight, and full and desperate for release, he exploded inside her, filling her completely with his seeds, as the moonlight filtered in through the trees and they soon collapsed in each others arms.

As he pushed himself onto his elbow afterwards, being careful not to crush her, still nestled comfortably within her, body humming in pleasure, he caught her gaze. She smiled softly at him, content with him still inside her folds, and reached up, brushing her fingers against his chin before they slid down his chest to rest against his heart. Neither said a word, but they didn't need to. Their actions spoke volumes, and after a moment, he caught her hand, bringing it up to press soft kisses to it, blue gaze never leaving hers. Then, he leaned down, kissing her softly, the meaning in his eyes loud and clear,

 _Welcome home, wife._


	64. Chapter 64

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Four Months Later_

Great Mother deems when new life shall enter the world, just as Death deems when old life shall pass into the next.

Elphaba, having gone through such before, knew the signs, even if she ignored them at first. She knew that her husband had filled her with his seeds that day; it would not surprise her had one of his seeds joined with one of her eggs, for she had not experienced a bleed in two months. At first, she thought it due to re-assimilating back into the tribe, but that had been fairly simple. Then, she considered it had to do with the piercing she'd received not long after returning- the small gem in the dip between her upper lip and nose, signifying her status as Fiyero's chieftess. But that had been minor compared to her tattoos.

Mulhama's tattoos- twelve beautiful green diamonds, each in clusters of six upon the inside of her wrists, signifying her position as the wife of the future medicine man- had been added not long after her sister returned to the tribe, and before she'd received the gem. Life had gone on as it always had, though Elphaba found herself getting used to being back in the tribe, while her sister seemed to thrive within it.

And then, three months ago, Mulhama had come to her in tears. She'd been fixing a moccasin in the tent, settled by the fire, as the children played outside; she hadn't been feeling well, and had asked Fiyero to leave her be for a while, to apologize to the elders, for she would not make it to counsel that day; it was custom for the chieftess to join her husband at counsel meetings, had been for centuries, because women were seen the voice of reason for they kept the lines going. Concerned, he'd offered to fetch Sarima, but she'd waved him away, insisting she was just tired, and he'd kissed her before leaving.

Her sister had shown up not long after. Elphaba had pulled her inside and sat her down, talking to her softly to get her to calm down; once calm, the young woman had admitted that had missed her monthly bleed for the last three months. The chieftess had covered her mouth with her hand to keep from chuckling, but her sister had noticed, demanding to know what was so funny, but all Elphaba had done was suggest she fetch Sarima.

She'd been right in doing so, for the medicine woman had informed her daughter-in-law that a child grew within her. The news had startled the younger woman, who had gone speechless, but Elphaba had done the math in her head, coming to the same conclusion Sarima had, without saying anything. Though she had noticed that she'd become the object of Sarima's blue gaze, and quickly averted her own, forcing herself to keep from caressing her midsection.

But Sarima could sense it; she knew the older woman could.

After Mulhama had left to inform her husband of the news, the medicine woman turned to the young chieftess, taking a seat across from her. _"Conosce la tua ragazza da due mesi, Chieftess, vero? Eppure lei non ha detto nulla al capo..."_

She'd turned to meet the older woman's gaze. _"Quel giorno mi riempì dei suoi semi, Sarima. Non ho iniziato a sentire gli effetti del bambino fino a due settimane più tardi. Non sono venuto da te perché conosco il mio corpo; So che un bambino cresce dentro di me."_ She had then reached down to caress her womb, something she'd tried to avoid doing for two months. _"E so che arriva la primavera, sarò molto rotondo e pesante, e verrà, che esplode dal mio corpo come avevano gli altri miei figli, e ci sarà dolore, sangue e amore. Non ho bisogno che tu o Tibbett mi dite che porto con me un bambino. Amo Mulhama, ma non sono mia sorella."_

Sarima had chuckled; her daughter-in-law was young still, and new to the tribe and their way of life, unlike her sister who had grown up in the tribe and their ways from thirteen moons on. _"Lo so, capo tess. Sei più forte nei modi della nostra tribù di lei. Lei è ancora giovane, devi perdonarle la sua innocenza. Una volta eri innocente anche per le vie della tribù."_

She'd then reached out and gently patted the young woman's hair, before excusing herself. Once gone, Elphaba had turned back to her body, rubbing her hands along her buckskin dress, over her womb where her child resided. _"Crescere, piccola. Crescere grande e forte e sano dentro di me. Coltivate in modo che vi mostriate presto a papà, perché non sa ancora che esisti dentro di me, anche se venite dai suoi semi."_

Now though, she lay within the furs of their bed, her husband sound asleep beside her, their children tucked within their beds. The fire crackled softly, warming the tent, and after a moment, she pushed the furs away and lifted her dress. She had started to show in the early weeks of her pregnancy, though she'd been able to hide it well, or so she'd thought. And then her husband had come back from a hunt one day; she'd undressed and was rubbing salve upon her skin when her husband's voice had caused her to turn, forgetting that she wore not a stitch of clothing.

His blue gaze had latched onto the swell before her- neatly round and good sized, and he'd gone to her, dropping to his knees beside her, tears in his eyes as he met her gaze. _"Fabala..."_ Though he couldn't find the words, the meaning was clear. _Why didn't you tell me? You are swelling with our child, and yet... you say nothing..._

She'd blushed, embarrassed for having hid it, but she'd felt it was her secret to share. Especially in the first fragile weeks, when she'd thought she'd lost it. But it had been false, and she had known to stay down and relax until the pain subsided. She'd kept quiet after because she feared it would not happen, but when she began to swell and felt the first flutterings of movement within, then she knew it was safe.

Fiyero had not spoken to her for weeks after, but eventually he'd gotten over it, and now he watched his wife like a hawk when he had the chance. She reached for her sleeping husband's hand, resting it upon her belly. He shifted closer, pulling her into his arms, fingers splaying over her skin. She laced their fingers, settling into his arms as sleep slowly began to claim her.


	65. Chapter 65

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Two Months Later_

Cold hung in the air within the village, though inside, each tent was warm.

 _"Mama! Madre!"_

Elphaba looked up as Nor came over to her, curling into her side. Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in white.

 _"Fai attenzione a Madre, né ricorda il bambino dentro di lei."_ The little girl didn't respond to her father's firm warning, but she nodded, laying her head on her mother's breast, before reaching down to tug at the skirt of her buckskin dress. Elphaba turned a dark gaze to her blue-eyed, black-haired daughter, setting the beading she was working on down.

 _"Vedi il bambino, per favore, mamma?"_

The soft whisper tugged at her heart, and after a moment, the chieftess urged her daughter to sit up, before she rose onto her knees and lifted the skirt of her dress, settling back down within the furs and tucking the skirt of her dress beneath her swelling breasts. Instantly, Nor leaned over and proceeded to talk to her mother's belly. Her parents watched, sharing glances, while Irji helped Manek to brush his hair, for the little boy had just had a bath. Suddenly, the girl bolted back and her mother winced as the baby kicked in response to their sister's voice.

Fiyero chuckled gently, ruffling his son's hair before going to his wife and leaning down to kiss her. _"Un piccolo guerriero si muove dentro di te, moglie."_

His wife made a face, even as the baby kicked again, this time in response to Fiyero's voice, and she glared up at him, reaching down to rub her belly. She spent much of her time now rubbing the stretching skin of her growing belly, becoming lost in thought as she daydreamed of the child within her. She was used to the changes her body was going through now, having carried and birthed three children before, but every so often, something would catch her off guard, despite her experience.

Fiyero watched his wife as she absentmindedly stroked her belly, becoming lost in thought, her beadwork forgotten. It was common for more than one woman of the tribe to fill with the seed of their partners, and it was common for more than one woman to grow round with child. Women carried the lines, they bore the next generation, they were the living embodiment of the Great Mother, and for many women to become round with child, it was not so uncommon. It was also not uncommon for sisters to often become round with child at the same time.

But the young chief found it strange that both Elphaba and Mulhama had become with child around the same time- mere days apart, from what Sarima could figure. He knew that he himself possessed a voracious appetite when it came to intercourse and sex; he also knew that his wife's appetite in regards to sex and intercourse and intimacy was equal to his, for they could not go a day without touching or kissing or teasing- even now, seven years after their marriage as young teenagers.

 _And back then, even when you were just discovering each other, newly married and unsure, you still had a great desire for it; you both did, even if you did not know what exactly it was or how important it was to the tribe. You still spent many days away from the tribe, exploring each other, discovering each other, bringing each other to the brink. Even after it was discovered that Irji grew within her, you both still desired it. It was as though the babe itself wished for you both to continue partaking._

And they had, eagerly and- as she'd grown bigger and gotten closer- carefully, even proceeding to tease and play the night she'd gone into labor, the night Irji had been born. They had done the same with Nor and Manek, and if Elphaba had her way- and she would, for he would not deny the woman who carried his child anything- they would partake the night this babe decided to come as well.

His thoughts wandered back to his sister-in-law. The girl was young, eighteen moons; she was innocent in so many ways, but Tibbett, he truly seemed to love her, despite the moons that separated them in age. He was gentle with her, even more so now that she grew round with his child. And Mulhama, she stayed with Elphaba when she had the chance; it wasn't uncommon to see the sisters sitting together with the other women, working on clothing or watching the children, or even going for a walk, for Elphaba had always been one to go wandering off and getting herself into trouble, even with motherhood taking up most of her life. She was more careful now, as she'd been during her other pregnancies, and Fiyero often sent Candle to follow them and keep watch, just in case. The sisters were almost always together it seemed.

It was as though the girls, once separated during the most important parts of their young lives, were now sharing this most momentous part of adulthood together- the growth of children within them, new life forming and growing and soon, childbirth would follow. It was almost as though the Great Mother recognized the importance the sisters held in each other's lives, and deemed it important enough that they be together in this next stage of their journeys. Perhaps that was why both sisters had conceived about the same time, so they could experience motherhood together, as they had once experienced childhood together, before Elphaba's arrival to the tribe.

He sighed; he knew the elders saw it as a blessing, that the young chief's wife has once more becoming swollen with child, not long after her return to the tribe- for that day in the alcove by the river, the Chief had filled her with his seed, and new life had begun to form- which meant only good things would come for the Arjiki. And that the wife of the young medicine man had also become filled with child-

A double blessing.

 _Only good things can come, after so much hardship. That the chieftess,_ and _the wife of the medicine man, are both growing heavy with child... Great Mother and the other gods have smiled down upon the Arjiki, they have given us a double blessing. Your wife was foreseen, destined forever to be Arjiki, but her sister, the return of Sarima's son... she is so much more than simply a woman; she is so much more than your Chieftess, she may very well be the living embodiment of the Great Mother._

"Yero?"

He looked up, the words of the elders vanishing from his mind as he looked up, to find his children curled up against their mother. She reached for him, and after a moment, he joined them, pulling the furs about them and kissing each head of dark hair. He moved down to cradle her belly, and she covered his hand with hers, meeting his gaze. The elders were right, in a way. Whether she was the living embodiment of Great Mother or not, didn't matter. She was his wife, the mother of his children, his Chieftess, and very, very much, a blessing.


	66. Chapter 66

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Three Months Later,_

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _1864_

She sat among the furs, trailing her fingers over the stretched skin of her belly. The new year had come, and with it, anticipation. Everyone in the tribe awaited the arrival of her child, of Mulhama's child as well. It was an air of excitement, similar to when she'd had Irji.

She looked up as the flap of the tent was lifted, and Mulhama poked her head in. Without a word, she nodded for her sister to join her; the children were playing with friends, and Fiyero was in counsel with the elders. Her confinement- as well as Mulhama's- had begun a week ago as both sisters prepared for birth. They were allowed to see each other, but other than that- and with both being of high status- they were watched more. Looked out for more.

Slowly, the eighteen-year-old lowered herself to the furs of her sister's bed, releasing a breath and resting a hand on her belly. She was carefully watching out for any sign that her pains would begin, but so far nothing. Elphaba had grown used to watching for the signs of labor beginning, but she'd grown careless in the last few days; her focus was no longer on the babe within her, but on something she could not voice, or even understand. She didn't know what it was, but it was important, she knew that much to be true.

A mild pain passed through her womb, and she gently pressed a hand to her side. Her husband had taken her as gently as allowed that morning, for she'd awoken aroused and desiring him greatly and refused to allow him to leave for counsel until she had him within her, to which he'd obliged, bringing her over the edge more than once, making sure she was truly satisfied and satiated before slipping away for counsel.

But that had been two hours ago, and the mild pains had not stopped.

"Elphaba?"

She looked up, pulled from her thoughts to meet her sister's gaze. _"Cos'è?"_

Mulhama simply shook her head. _"Sembri... Distratto."_ The teenager had quickly picked up the language, and was near fluent in Arjiki now. Though she still occasionally spoke English with her husband, or when she couldn't think of the correct word for something.

The chieftess furrowed a brow at her, before averting her gaze and pressing her hand to the side of her belly. Her sister watched the action, worry niggling at the back of her mind. Something was wrong with her sister, but she couldn't figure out what. The young tribeswoman was horribly distracted, that much was clear, but by what, she couldn't tell. And the fact that she kept pressing against her belly- "Elphaba?"

"Hmm?"

Another press, a barely concealed wince. The teenager had been learning from Sarima the signs of labor so she would know what to watch for when her time came, but now, she was starting to sense that perhaps her sister's time had come. _"Stai bene?"_

A nod. "Mhmm."

She raised an eyebrow as her sister averted her gaze, the niggling in the back of her head that her sister's time had either come or was fast approaching refusing to let go. Elphaba shifted, lifting the skirt of her buckskin dress up; it was no longer comfortable and she could not even handle the softest of buckskin upon her sensitive flesh. Mulhama watched as her sister's belly shifted slightly, and Elphaba pressed against the side of her belly, wincing. "Elphaba?"

"... hmm?"

The teen bit her lip; she had to ask, whether her sister liked it or not. _"Ho... Penso che i tuoi dolori siano iniziati,_ Fabala." The chieftess shook her head, wincing as the pain continued to throb within her lower back. Mulhama nodded, biting her lip. She herself had been feeling mild pain in her lower back all morning, but she figured it was from the weight of the babe she carried; yes, she and her sister had conceived at the same time, and were due to birth any day, but there was no way such a thing could occur. Yes, women often birthed at the same time on the same day, but sisters? No such thing had ever happened, nor would. " _Si_ , Fabala."

For such a thing to occur, after a period of hardship, meant that a new dawn would quickly approach for the tribe, as Tibbett had told her that morning after they'd made love. But sisters, going through the process of childbirth _together_ , at the same time...

 _Only Great Mother would allow for such a thing to happen._ Her husband's words faded away, and she sighed. Her sister was stubborn, and would most likely deny her pains starting up until the babe came into the world, so she let her be, shifting her position. The movement caused the mild pain to come back, and she reached behind her, placing a hand on her lower back. Elphaba looked up from her daydream.

"Mulhama?" The girl shook her head.

The sisters settle in silence, the noise of the village outside barely distracting both from their own thoughts, or the pain radiating for both. Elphaba shifted, moving onto her knees, hands moving to cradle the great swell before her, and she released a slow breath. The pain in her back had gotten worse; she could no longer ignore it. She pressed hard against her belly, lifting her head and slowly releasing a breath. Mulhama watched her sister; it was evident now that what Elphaba was experiencing was her pains, meaning her time was close- if it hadn't already come. "Fabala?" The chieftess slowly looked up at her sister, releasing a breath as she did so. _"I tuoi dolori sono iniziati. Vado a prendere mia madre."_

This time, the young woman simply nodded; there was no point in arguing, for it was evident the pain working its way through her body now had to do with the impending birth. With difficulty, Mulhama got to her feet and left, hurrying to fetch Sarima, Tibbett and Fiyero. By the time the four returned, her pains had gotten worse; she had gone from her knees to curled up in the furs, her arms around her belly as the pains grew.

Fiyero was by her side instantly, concern for his wife loud and clear in his blue gaze; as they helped the young chieftess sit up, as Sarima managed to get her to spread her legs so she could check the young woman's progress, Mulhama backed up in attempt to get out of the way, when a sharp pain cut through her womb. She choked out a cry, reaching down to press against her belly, and the others turned, momentarily distracted.

"Mulhama?" Tibbett was by her side instantly, but she waved it away.

"Nothing, _marito, niente_." But her lie was quickly uncovered as she doubled over, letting out a startled cry.

" _Niente?_ " Tibbett repeated, and she glared at him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her towards the entrance. _"Dobbiamo riportarti alla nostra tenda così puoi mentire."_

But she shook her head. _"No. No! Voglio... per stare con il mio... Sorella..."_

Tibbett didn't fight her, as he helped her to return to her sister's side. Once seated beside the older woman, Mulhama rested her head against Elphaba's shoulder. The woman brushed a kiss to her head, before biting her lip as another pain caught her in its grip. The other three shared a glance. Two women going into labor at the same time was common, for women often had children at the same time, but _sisters_...

Sarima sighed, for she knew that this was only the start, and that it would be a long, difficult night, for both women. But no one knew exactly how long and difficult, or exactly what surprises were in store.


	67. Chapter 67

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Elphaba could no longer deny it.

Her time had come, her pains had started that morning after intercourse- or perhaps even during- with her husband, but she'd ignored them. And now, hours later, they were continuing, getting stronger and stronger with each passing hour. She looked up, meeting Mulhama's gaze; the sisters lay together within the furs of her bed, drawing comfort from each other as they experienced the pain of childbirth together. Though she had been through this three times before, the pain of it still surprised the young Chieftess, and but it no longer scared her like it had when Irji had been born.

A moment passed, as the younger woman brushed a kiss to her head, ignoring her own growing pains to focus on her sister; Elphaba closed her eyes, lowering her head and curling tight around her belly as another pain came, strong and tight and long. Unable to contain it any longer, the laboring woman let out a scream, curling even tighter around her belly. Though being seen as ungrateful to the gods, the wife of the chief was allowed some liberties. Just as being the wife of the medicine man- present or future, it didn't matter- allowed for some liberties.

Being able to scream and make noise during labor and childbirth being one of them.

Her screams turned into sobs, and she let Mulhama wrap her in her arms; the younger woman grunted against the growing pain in her own belly; she had to focus on her sister, for her sister's pains were stronger. Perhaps it was because she had birthed thrice before-

She sat up, reaching down and pressing against her belly, strong, intense, tightness gripping her. It was almost as though Mulhama's labor was mirroring that of her sister's- for every intense pain Elphaba suffered through, Mulhama followed, as though Great Mother had decided they would experience this life-changing event together.

Fiyero watched the women closely, something in the back of his mind popping up. A moment passed, before he turned to Sarima, but before he could speak, his wife's voice cut into the tension. _"Yero?"_

The chief glanced back at the medicine woman, his fears clear in his blue gaze, as he went to his wife, kneeling down beside her. Tibbett had joined Mulhama, and was gently rubbing her back and humming softly to her to help her focus. Elphaba looked up at her husband. _"Sono qui, moglie. Sono qui."_

He helped her sit up, settling behind her and pulling her into his embrace. She leaned back against him, resting her head against his shoulder, legs spread wide and reached down, pressing against her belly as another pain came. She let out a moan, lifting her head from his shoulder and clenching her eyes shut, bearing down slightly as she did so, to no avail.

Hours passed, day turned to evening, evening to night. Preparations for the equinox the next night had begun that morning, which is where Fiyero had been when Mulhama had come for him. The chief had a sneaking suspicion that the equinox would play a major role in the next several hours, for it would appear the next day-

At one point, as the pains briefly subsided for both women, Mulhama crawled over and curled into her sister's embrace. Elphaba held tight to the younger woman, kissing her head as she struggled to catch her breath, for her pains kept coming. _"Falli smettere, per favore."_ Elphaba shook her head, wishing she could, for both of them, but it wasn't possible.

The pain continued, gripping both individually around the belly and twisting. Eventually both women curled up together, facing each other,; lying side by side seemed to be the only way to keep the pain from getting too out of control, but such a choice would only last for so long. Gently, Elphaba ran her fingers through her sister's messy braid, for the girl had halfheartedly put her hair back to keep it out of her face. Her own double braids hung down her back pin straight, but starting to come undone. _"Respira, Mulhama, respira."_

Slowly, Elphaba began breathing, showing her sister how to, as the teenager copied her, in attempt to calm herself and deal with the contractions. They continued through the pain, holding tight to each other all through the arriving evening hours. At one point, Elphaba pulled away from her sister and sat up with her husband's help. She reached up, taking his hand and squeezing. "Fabala?" She didn't respond to him. _"Fabala, cos'è? Parlami."_

But all she did was lean back against him with a groan, as the pain continued; familiar, very, very familiar pressure, building within her most sacred, secret of places. It became far, far too great, and she groaned, reaching and digging her nails into his thighs to deal with the pain in hopes it would pass. But the pain wouldn't leave; it continued to build, and build, and build. Having done this before, she knew what it meant, what was coming. She had been at this for hours, dealing with this pain, this constant twisting and squeezing of her insides, and now, to deal with this building pressure, that started deep within her most sacred of places, within the place her husband had released his seed months ago-

If only her waters would burst forth, then the babe could start making its way out of her...

More pressure. _More_.

Continuous, it built upon itself, building, building, _building_ -

She heard Mulhama's cry, and knew her sister was experiencing the same. She turned her head, meeting her sister's gaze as the teenager sat up. It was very, very quickly becoming clear, to everyone.

They were to experience this- labor and the act of childbirth- together.

At first, she did not want to believe it, that they would birth their children together, at the same time, but it was becoming even more apparent as the hours dragged on, as the pains got worse for both, that their children would be born together. Clearly, the Great Mother wished for their babes to enter the world at the same time, otherwise she would not have allowed them to become filled with their husbands' seeds at the same time. And yet, it felt as though there was something else, something even greater than Great Mother's plan at work.

 _Once apart for years, now we shall never be apart again._


	68. Chapter 68

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Hours passed; their labors progressed. They turned to each other, relying on each other for comfort instead of their husbands. It was evident by now that they shared each others' pain; the sisters, not just linked by blood, but by souls- if one experienced immense pain, the other would as well, for their pregnancies were linked. It was as if the Great Mother was ensuring that both women would know the other was there, despite being mere feet apart. Perhaps it was because for years, Mulhama had not known if her sister was dead or alive...

Tibbett glanced at Fiyero, before the young Chief beckoned him aside. With a kiss to their wive's heads, both men slipped out of the tent. The Chief turned to the translator once the flap had fallen, and he chuckled softly. The fear etched within the older man's features was reminiscent of the fear he'd felt when Elphaba had gone into labor with Irji that night of the Spring Solstice, but his wife was a pro at this now, or so it seemed, and he knew to stay by her side for support, but when it came to the actual birth of the babe, to leave her be, for her body knew what it was doing. The question that escaped the young translator's lips however, surprised him.

"My wife, she will survi-" He swallowed. _"Mia moglie sopravviverà?"_

The single, sapphire diamond tattoo in the center of his forehead- the only tattoo allowed upon an Arjiki royal's face, signifying his status as the Chief- crinkled slightly as Fiyero chuckled. To think, at first, he had been hesitant to allow Tibbett to return to the tribe, but once he realized that this was the young boy Sarima spoke of- the adopted son stolen from her- he knew that to deny him his return to the tribe, to the woman he saw as his mother, would be doing more harm than good. Sarima, despite the years apart from her adoptive son, had taken him into her arms upon realizing who he was, and cried to the heavens in thanks that her son was returned to her. To see the woman who had helped to raise him, be brought back to life with her son's return, was worth the suspicions he'd held towards the white. And Tibbett's return had seemed to reinvigorate the medicine woman; as Elphaba's return reinvigorated the tribe.

He shook clear his head, and returned to the matter at hand when a scream was heard from inside the tent.

 _"Sopravviverà, Tibbett. Le donne sono forti, sono fatte per avere figli. La Grande Madre si assicurò quando li creò che sarebbero stati in grado di gestire tale dolore. Sono loro che permettono alla tribù di continuare, ricordi?"_ The older man blushed. When had the young boy he remembered chasing after him, eager to join the warriors, become so wise? Or perhaps, it was because of _who_...

 _"Fabala mi ha portato tre figli prima di questo. Il suo arrivo riportò la vita alla tribù, così come il suo ritorno. Entrambi sono più forti di quanto nessuno di noi lo sappia. Mulhama ti porterà molti più figli, Tibbett. Perché è forte, come sua sorella."_

The young shaman-in-training nodded, but something still weighed on his mind. _"Ora sarà molto diversa, vero? "_

Fiyero smiled softly at his brother-in-law. _"Sarà ancora la donna che ami, ma sì, sarà diversa. La creazione di una nuova vita le cambia, in modi per il meglio."_

Tibbett nodded; he'd often watched the young Chief as he gathered his wife to his chest, saw how he'd slid his hands down the soft curves of her changing body, the way he'd caress the sensitive skin of her swollen belly. Fiyero understood that a woman changed when new life grew within her; he embraced the changes, for he'd had the opportunity to three times before. For Tibbett, this was all new; and though he was trained in the ways of medicine, he knew that as far as the female body was concerned, it was not a man's domain. They were there to help if something happened, but it ultimately, it was the woman's body who did the work, who carried the child and ultimately expelled it into the world.

The young chief smirked gently at his brother-in-law, wincing slightly as Tibbett jumped at the screams coming from the tent. He had been young and fearful of the painful process his wife went through to bear their children once, too. _"C'è di più di lei per dare, nel corpo, nel cuore e nell'anima, specialmente una volta che il bambino-"_

Suddenly, the flap of the tent was pulled back and both men looked up as Sarima appeared. "My son," She turned to Fiyero. "Chief, the babes _sono quasi qui_."

Sharing a glance, both men followed Sarima back into the tent. Tibbett, stopped, suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity.

 _The sound of liquid dripping into the dirt... nails dug into skin... a push, a scream, the scent of copper strong in the air..._

Fiyero went immediately to Elphaba's side, settling beside her and taking her hand, kissing her longingly on her mouth. He gently passed his breath to her, whispering softly to her as he pulled away and kissed her forehead. _"Hai riportato questa vita alla nostra tribù, mia moglie. Il tuo ritorno predetto di fortuna a venire. Questa ragazza è solo l'inizio. Sei così forte, e il tuo ritorno ha reso la nostra tribù forte."_

A moment passed, before Tibbett went to Mulhama's side, heart in his throat as he realized that there was so much more to the dream he'd had that night at the Thropp household than he'd thought. Yes, he'd witnessed Elphaba giving birth, but what he hadn't seen- or perhaps hadn't noticed- was that Mulhama had been there as well, also in the throes of childbirth. But he'd been so focused on the princess-

Elphaba took her husband's words to heart, letting out a keen, painful wail as she bore down, to no avail. Not far from her, Mulhama bore down as well, Tibbett's sturdy hands on her shoulders, giving her his strength. Sarima stayed back, allowing the women to do as their bodies ordered. Tibbett glanced at the young Chieftess and then his wife, noticed how they mirrored each other, for both women were clearly tied now, not just by blood, but by motherhood, as their bodies worked to bring new life into the world.

"Tibbett!" He turned back to his wife, holding her closer. Mulhama let out a grunt. _"It hurts... pressure... Cosa e' questo... c'è troppo..."_

The pressure her sister had been feeling for the last couple hours Mulhama now felt also, and she gripped her husband's hands as it got worse. He kissed her forehead, whispering softly too her, to calm her. He looked up however at the sound of something ripping- being drawn back into what had been the vision- in time to see something burst between the young chieftess's legs as she let out a scream. The ripping continued, and Mulhama doubled over with a screech as liquid continued to drip into the dirt and blankets beneath her. Tibbett glanced at Fiyero, who nodded. It was evident, from the very distinct smell that now hung in the air, that the building pressure both women felt within their wombs had been due to their waters bursting.

With that barrier now gone, labor would progress; it would still be a long night before either babe entered the world, and they all knew they needed to be prepared for it.


	69. Chapter 69

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Long ago, before the Arjiki walked the earth, there were two young sisters._

 _Kumbria, the oldest of the two at ten moons, was spirited away by Great Mother to become the bride of Grimmerie, a young man of twelve moons. Her sister, Lurline, at eight moons, mourned the loss of her beloved older sister, and blamed herself for her disappearance. Years passed, and Kumbria and Grimmerie grew to love each other deeply; they grew together, falling even more in love day after day, until many, many moons had passed, the years of their marriage stretching out before them._

 _One afternoon, while out within the grasslands exploring, they came across another couple; despite the years that had passed, the young woman recognized Kumbria immediately, rushing towards her, but Kumbria backed up, putting her husband between them. The other young woman was revealed to be Lurline, her little sister, now a woman and also married herself._

 _Though Kumbria did not initially remember her sister, the two women met in the grasslands where they had last been together, talking and getting reacquainted with each other. Over time, Kumbria began to remember Lurline, and the women grew close, becoming sisters once more. Eventually, after months, Kumbria began to swell with child; Lurline too, swelled with child, and the two sisters rejoiced in their impending motherhood together._

 _But it was not to be._

 _When Kumbria's time arrived, the moon was high in the sky and speckled red with blood; not long after, Lurline's time also came, and the sisters experienced the growing pains of labor together. For each strong pain Kumbria felt, Lurline would follow, their labors mirrored each other; the broken connection they had had as children due to their separation had repaired over time, becoming exceedingly strong, near dangerous._

 _Night dragged on, their labor worsened; Kumbria soon began to bleed. The closer she got to birthing, the more blood she would lose. Lurline soon mirrored her sister, losing blood as well, though not nearly as much. As the hour of dawn fast approached, Kumbria began to lose her senses; her skin began to burn and delirium set in, sickening her mind. She lost all memory of her beloved little sister, only recalling her years with her husband, as though the last years with her sister by her side had been wiped clean._

 _The more blood she lost, the more her skin burned and the worse her delirium became, until she remembered nothing but the babe within her, desperate to come out. She soon began to claw at the sensitive skin of her belly, the fever that ravaged her causing her to turn on her own body. And though Lurline suffered similar, the memories of her and her sister remained, keeping the delirium from setting in completely._

 _As dawn began to peek over the horizon, the babe burst forth from Kumbria's womb, though not cries drowned out her own. Collapsed back in Grimmerie's arms, she heard only that her child had not lived; a scream of agony escaped the delirious young woman, and her body arched one last time as the sac the babe had grown in was expelled from her. Her body now finished with its task, she looked up at her husband, eyes rolling without focus, lips moving without sound. She breathed one final time and passed into the next world, leaving her husband alone, for the babe had gone before her._

 _Lurline, having witnessed her sister's life end but unable to do anything, continued with the birth, eventually expelling her own babe from her body. Strong, healthy cries reached her ears, and she sobbed, for having delivered a healthy babe where her sister did not. Without her beloved older sister by her side to experience her own joy- joy that had turned to heartbreak in moments- Lurline too collapsed in her husband's arms, the babe against her chest. She turned her gaze not to the babe in her arms, but the man she had married, whispering that she was sorry before she too breathed her last, sagging into his chest, her heart still, leaving her husband to raise their daughter alone._

 _Grimmerie, overtaken by grief at the loss of both his wife and child, soon joined them in the other world; his body was found drowned in the river hours after. Lurline's husband, Kiamo, after burying his wife, sister-and-brother-in-law, took his daughter, a little girl he named Preenella, and went in search of Great Mother, who helped him to raise the little girl. From Preenella's womb, eventually came the Arjiki tribe, and she was often confused with the Great Mother herself._

 _It was thought that the return of her sister drove Kumbria to madness, that their bond was so strong, the young woman could not handle it, as well as the throes of labor, and so her body turned upon itself, wiping clean her relationship with her sister to preserve her, only to do so too late, costing her life. It was believed, that Lurline, so connected to her sister after having been separated from her for so long, could not bear the thought of being without her beloved Kumbria again, and so joined her in the other world at the cost of her surviving family._

 _Legend stated, that the sisters would return on a day of equal light and dark, at the moment of their separation. And that if the outcome was unfavourable, the end of the Arjiki would be near, but if the outcome was favourable, then only good fortune would shine upon the tribe from then on._

Fiyero knew the legend well; he, like so many Arjiki children, had been raised hearing the 'Legend of the Sisters', and it had scared him then. But it scared him even more now, especially with his wife and sister-in-law in the late stages of labor and beginning stages of birth. He gently rubbed her back, kissing her hair softly, trying hard to keep his worry from showing, as he got up and went to the tent flap, checking the sky outside. With the hour of day and light fast approaching- dawn had risen hours ago, and still the women labored- he wasn't afraid to admit to himself that the madness Kumbria had experienced, the outcome, was not possible.

Elphaba and Mulhama were so close, so connected, there was a very real possibility-

 _"Yero! Yero!"_

He turned back, hurrying to his wife's side. She reached for him, crying out in pain as blood trickled down her legs, and something began to slowly appear between the folds of her opening. He took her into his arms, speaking softly to her. _"Sta arrivando, marito! Sta cominciando a venire! Sento che comincia a venire! Yero... Yero, ho paura..."_

He glanced at Sarima, noticing the same look in her eyes, before turning back to his wife. _"Shh, Fabala. Andrà tutto bene. Sono qui. Non permetterò che ti succeda niente. Promesso."_ But even as he said it, he knew it was a promise he couldn't keep, for it was her body in control, not his. He looked up as Mulhama let out a screech, and realized that just as their babe was beginning to come, so was Mulhama and Tibbett's.

As he held his wife closer, he prayed to the gods, especially the Great Mother, that the outcome would be favourable.


	70. Chapter 70

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N:** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Kellswater,_

 _Spring Equinox,_

 _1864_

The hour of light and dark began to arrive.

Screams pierced the air, loud and primal and strong; a bellow escaped the young chieftess's throat as she bore down, pushing with all her might. Three hours earlier, the head of each babe had partially slid out of their mothers, but had gone no further. Elphaba now sat back against her husband's chest, holding his hands down between her thighs; his fingers brushed against the head of curls that partially hung out of his wife, and she looked up at him, breathing heavily due to the pain. He met her gaze, kissing her soundly. _Perhaps, if it know you are here, it will be born, husband. It will be born now that it can feel you are here by my side..._

She broke the kiss, digging her nails into his thighs as her back arched and she bore down, identical screams, primal and animalistic, rang out through the tent; not a word was said, for it was evident by now that the Great Mother was in control. She was making sure that both sisters went through this journey together. Fiyero only hoped the outcome would be in their favour, and not the legend's.

 _"Tienilo dentro, per favore! I don't want to... Lo voglio dentro..."_ Gently, Tibbett brushed sticky strands of hair from his wife's face, whispering softly to her, even as she continued to bear down, as her sister did the same.

 _"Hai quasi finito, amore mio. Our babe è quasi finita."_ Mulhama shook her head, screaming as she bore down again. Tibbett watched as the child his wife carried continued to come, the head eventually coming out completely; the same with her sister.

Minutes passed, as both sisters continued to birth, the babes they carried slowly leaving their bodies. Catching her breath, Elphaba collapsed back into Fiyero's arms; the babe was now partially out of her, one shoulder having fully appeared. She grit her teeth and pushed, but nothing happened. She let out another bellow, stronger this time, reaching down between her thighs.

A glance at her sister told her that Mulhama was experiencing the same thing, though the younger girl was more scared of the babe making its way out of her than the pain of labor, but Elphaba couldn't blame her. She'd been just as terrified when Irji left her body, for the sensations of labor were entire different to the sensations of birth; pains were simply that- pains, as the body got ready to expel the babe- but birth...

Birth was entirely different. It was much more primal; a weak woman could handle the pains of labor, but not the pains of birth as the babe made its way into the world, and a strong woman could handle the pains of birth but not the pains of labor. Fear was to be expected, especially if it was the first.

Blood trickled between her fingers as she pushed; Fiyero kept quiet, not wanting to upset his wife as she strained to birth their child. So instead, he reached up, sliding his hands over the sides of her belly, giving her his strength as she continued to push, letting out a whine of pain as her back arched and she snapped her eyes shut. A quick glance told him that Mulhama was facing the same; she held tight to Tibbett's hands, a screech of pain ripping from her throat. _"Yero..."_ He turned back to his wife. Her chest heaved with each breath. _"Tiri fuori... toglietelo da me... Per favore, marito... tiralo fuori..."_

She began to cry, kicking out in response to the pain, hands never leaving her opening. He kissed her softly, whispering words of encouragement as his wife struggled to birth. She shook her head, sobbing desperately in pain, and it was then that he pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her soundly, deeply, once more passing his breath to her and calming her down enough to focus. She drank in his breath hungrily, greedily, desperate for it, _starving_ for it. Every fiber of her being craved it, right down to the tiniest follicle of hair.

Arjiki legend stated that if a man passed his breath to his wife while in the throes of labor and childbirth, that the babe would take their father's breath in through their mother's body and it would give both the strength needed- the babe to come, the mother to birth- to finally separate. He'd done so with each of their children before, and the legend had seemed to ring true; Elphaba, knowing the legend, was eager for it, desperate for it; anything, to expel this babe from her body.

Mulhama, meanwhile, buried her face in her husband's shoulder; Tibbett tightened his hold on her hands, chanting softly to her, letting his knowledge of medicinal charms and chants help calm his wife. The two vastly different approaches were a sight to behold; the Arjiki Chief, born of the tribe, relying on legend to help his wife through birth, while the medicine man, born of the white world, turned to chants and charms to help his wife. While neither was better than the other, both showed where their trust lay; Fiyero had witnessed his wife birth three times before, he'd held her through each painful labor and hard birth, comforted her as best he could, creating a bond stronger than any ever thought possible.

But for Tibbett and Mulhama, this was new; their first child, and though Elphaba and Fiyero had both given good advice, they chose their own path, that fit them best. They would learn, however, as the years went by, the path that worked best for them, though they would never fully turn from the old legends. They would adapt them, embrace them, as they both embraced the tribe, as Elphaba would embrace her role as Chieftess.

Elphaba pulled away from her husband and bore down. The shoulder that she had had such trouble birthing came out, and, as the hour of light and dark struck the earth, two strong, primal, identical screams rang out, accompanied by exceedingly hard, strong pushes from both laboring women. With the hour of light and dark upon the world, two babes, much anticipated by both their parents and their tribe, slid out from between their mothers' legs in bursts of blood and fluid.


	71. Chapter 71

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N: So there _is_ another story that goes along with this piece, set years after this story. I found it a few weeks ago. I'll try to start posting it soon. ****Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

Strong, harsh, new cries filled the air, drowning out the screams of both women, and Fiyero turned to his wife as she collapsed in his arms, chest heaving. "Fabala," She met his gaze, reaching up to brush her fingers against his cheek, the babe that had just burst forth from her body in her arms, still crying. _"Fabala, guardami, moglie. Per favore, principessa. Parlami."_ Fear filled his voice, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He would not relax until he heard his precious Chieftess speak-

Her breathing slowed, and she searched his gaze, exhausted. _"Figlio o figlia, mio principe? Il mio capo? Ho dato alla luce un principe o una principessa?"_

Her name for him didn't go unnoticed, for they still called each other by their former titles- something that had been going on from the time she first arrived, and nothing, not even Fiyero becoming Chief of the Arjiki, would change such a tradition. He choked out a strangled laugh, resting his forehead to hers, relieved at finally hearing her beautiful voice. He turned his gaze to the babe against her chest, noting the piece of the sac still upon the babe's head, before letting his gaze wander down. He grinned, pride filling his voice as he breathed, _"Hai portato una figlia dai miei semi, il mio capo. Una bella principessa."_

She smiled softly at him, resting her head against him. _"Una principessa."_

He kissed her head, and both turned as Mulhama choked out, _"Un figlio? Ti ho portato un figlio, marito?"_

Tibbett chuckled, despite the shock he now felt. _"Sì, moglie. Ci hai dato nascere un figlio bellissimo."_

Elphaba smiled softly at her sister from her place in her husband's arms, her daughter's loud cries matching those of her cousin's, who lay cradled against his own mother's chest. Mulhama was too in awe of the newborn boy she'd just pushed out of her body; the response was similar to how she'd felt when Irji had finally laid upon her chest after birth. Eventually, she turned her gaze back to her daughter, who, despite the fluid and ruddiness of her skin from her entrance into the world, was as pale as her mother; her skin would change with time, to be similar to her siblings' as she grew. It was then that she noticed the intact piece of sac still atop her daughter's head. Brow furrowed, she turned to her husband, who nodded and kissed her sweetly.

It was believed that pieces of the sac left upon a babe's head after birth signified a strong role the babe would take later in life; that the sac was left upon the head of the Chief and Chieftess's newborn princess meant she herself would one day lead the tribe; the sac upon her cousin's head signified he could very well become shaman one day; regardless, they meant great things for both children.

They slowly broke the kiss, her words making his heart flutter. _"Che cosa si chiama lei, il mio principe?" A name, for our new daughter._

Fiyero heard her, but couldn't focus on her words, for he couldn't take his eyes off the baby against his wife's breast. No matter the child, no matter the years between them, the sight of them just born still stole his breath away, and it took a few minutes before he was able to drag his eyes from the baby to his wife. _"Nostra figlia..."_

He looked up, turning his gaze towards Tibbett and Mulhama, who's gaze was firmly latched onto the baby boy in her arms. Both babes were slightly bigger than normal, which had been part of the reason for such long, difficult deliveries, and both were still attached to their mothers, by way of the chords that dangled between their mothers' legs. In a couple hours, the chords would detach themselves on their own. A moment passed, before Mulhama finally spoke, breathing the name of her new babe in a hushed, awestruck tone. _"Trism."_

Fiyero smiled softly, for he knew the meaning, 'Evening Sun'.

"Yero?"

He turned back to his wife, who waited patiently, the babe's cries slowly starting to calm as she lay against her mother's breast. Fiyero turned his gaze back to the babe, and after a moment, he leaned down, capturing Elphaba's mouth in another soft kiss, that didn't go unnoticed by either Tibbett or Mulhama. The younger woman smiled softly at her older sister, before glancing up at her husband, who kissed her forehead. Against her mouth, Fiyero whispered,

 _"Sarà... Oziandra."_

His wife's smile beamed up at him as he pulled away, for she knew the meaning- 'Returned Love'.

After all they had gone through, such a name was appropriate for this new life created and brought into the world, for not only did this new babe finally complete their family, but her arrival- along with that of her cousin's- meant that only good things could be on the horizon for them- not just their family, but their tribe. This had been the babe Elphaba had dreamed of the night she fled the Thropp house, the night she spirited away, back to the Vinkus, when she'd arrived the following morning, asking to return and Fiyero had kept silent. _This_ was the babe that had been on her mind when he'd followed her to the river, and she'd taken him back into her body in the alcove by the river; it was the babe Fiyero had dreamed of that night, separated from her and near broken.

Yes, this name, this babe, was very, _very_ special for them.

Because unlike her, who had been born into the tribe, for her mother, there had _never_ been a thing like what the whites thought- captivity among the Arjiki.

For Elphaba, there was only love.


	72. Chapter 72

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A** **/N: Bonus chapter.** **Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia**

 _Arjiki Encampment,_

 _Thousand Year Grasslands,_

 _Five Years Later_

He could smell the smoke from the fires, hear the distant laughter of children.

They were sounds he'd never forgotten, glimpses of a life he'd never get to live, though he longed to. Even though he himself did not belong, he knew the women who did, they carried his blood in their veins, looked like he did; distinctly different, but no less loved or accepted within the tribe. They had married high in the tribe, as his father would say. One, after running away weeks before she officially became a woman, the other, in the tender years of childhood, after being taken from their wagon train that long ago day.

It was a day that seemed to be made of more than fantasy than reality, though such a reality was very, very real. For wagon trains still crossed through the Grasslands, hundreds of men, women and children headed for a better life in the new state of Munchkinland. And for the most part, the tribes left them alone, though on occasion, there was a skirmish, but it was never long or as terrifying as that day had been, back in the hot mid-June of eighteen-sixty-three. He'd been a scared child of eight, knew nothing of Indians except what had been published in the papers, had certainly never seen one, and had watched as his beloved older sister had been stolen away from them in a raid, to be sold to another tribe.

And she had thrived, in that tribe she had been sold to; married to the prince, she'd grown, not just into a woman, but as a wife and soon a mother, bearing three children before her twentieth birthday, completely assimilating into the tribe by the time she'd been stolen by the white man and brought back to 'civilization.' And she'd nearly died, those six days in the white man's world, kept from her family and her tribe.

Her return had been painful, for he'd had to leave her, turn around and return to a world that felt empty without his sisters, for his older sister had by then run off with the translator come to help them, searching for and finding the tribe the translator had grown up in; the same tribe their sister was a part of. He knew nothing of what had happened to them after, if his sisters were still alive, if they were happy and thriving. He'd thought of them constantly these five years on, before finally deciding he had the opportunity to search for them.

It was not to bring them back to the white world; it was simply to see them again, to know they were okay, to hug them and hear their voices.

He missed them, oh, how he missed them.

Gently, he tugged on the reigns of the horse. The wind blew gently, ruffling his hair and causing the smoke from the fires to change direction. From his place atop his horse, he could see children playing, people working. A gasp caused him to turn, and he looked up, finding a woman standing before him, dressed in buckskin, her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. She looked to be a couple years older than he- he did not recognize her, but she had been the young woman sent to bring his sister back that day, the day the chief lay dieing- and after a moment, she turned, dropping the basket she carried and hurrying back to to the camp. "No! Wait!"

Instead of spurring the horse to go, he got down, pursing her on foot through the grasslands. Eventually, he skidded to a stop, unaware he was in the center of the village and soon the object of everyone's gaze. The woman he'd been pursuing had turned back, meeting his gaze, suddenly no longer afraid. "Candle?" But she ignored the little boy who had come up and tugged her hand, enthralled by the man's dark eyes. The boy then noticed him, and released her hand, hurrying away.

 _"Papa! Mama!"_

As others in the village gathered around the white, someone stepped out of a nearby tent. The man strode towards him, and he had the decency to step back. The singular diamond in the center of his forehead signified his status, and he stopped feet from him. _"Come osi attraversare la terra di Arjiki. Chi sei?"_

He shook his head, unable to understand the man, when a voice broke in, behind the man who was clearly the chief. _"Ti ho detto del suo arrivo, marito. Ho sognato la settimana scorsa di un uomo che sarebbe venuto a cercarci."_

The woman who stepped forward clucked her tongue in disappointment, the gem that resided between her nose and upper lip sparking in the light as she spoke; it was evident, since they'd both seemingly come from the same tent, the way she spoke to him, that he was her husband. _"Anche ora, queste molte lune più tardi, dopo che vi ho partoriti quattro figli e guidati al vostro fianco, ancora non mi credete quando vi dico di quello che ho sognato. Ti fidi del mio corpo più della mia mente; rimasto con me tutte queste lune, eppure, ancora, si sceglie di credere al consiglio su tua_ moglie. _Colui che attacca per primo senza giusta causa morirà per ultimo."_

The man had the decency to look guilty as she cast a pointed glare his way. _"Sarai anche il capo, ma io sono il tuo capotess. Ho tanto ondeggiare quanto te. Siete sempre venuti da me prima di andare dal consiglio, eppure andate in consiglio invece di venire da me quando parlo di un uomo bianco che entra nelle praterie in cerca di noi."_ She turned from her husband, studying him. _"Un uomo che mi somigli. Un uomo che viene con l'amore nel suo cuore, non l'inganno. Egli non vuole farci del male, semplicemente vederci. Perché siamo le sue sorelle, l'unica famiglia che gli è rimasta."_ She smiled softly at him now. _"Ciao, fratello, è bello rivederti."_

His heart constricted, as she moved past her husband, making her way towards him. He studied her, taking in her features, noting how she'd filled out more; he remembered a little Arjiki, and he managed to catch the words 'birth', 'four' and 'children'. Clearly, she'd borne another child at some point in the last five years; her already soft curves were much softer, giving her a more willowy shape, though her black hair was still long and pin straight. _"Fae?"_

The nickname he'd thought of that day they'd fled the Thropp house and come back to her tribe, the day they'd parted ways, was louder than the loudest drums, and she smiled, wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in her scent. When finally, they broke apart, he turned to find another woman making her way towards him; round with child, her hair in a single plait down her back, she reached for him. He choked out a sob, "Nessa?"

The woman shook her head quickly. " _Mulhama_." She replied, embracing him. He gathered his older sister to him, being gentle of her belly. When finally, he pulled away, he simply asked,

"First?"

"Third." He looked up as the medicine man joined them, sliding an arm around his wife's waist. A smile tugged at his lips as he nodded to his brother-in-law. "It's good to see you again, Shell."


End file.
